#raw air 2017

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/BTR Book 2: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 6: I can’t lose.. when I’m with you..

Flashback January 15th, 2025 12:16 PM

Rhea cleared her throat, the air thick with tension as she broke Jey’s eye contact. Jey, sensing her discomfort, gently lifted her chin, urging her to meet his gaze again. “It’s okay,” he reassured her softly.

Taking another deep breath, Rhea began to recount her past, her voice trembling slightly. “It was 2017. I had just turned 21. I was at a bar with Tegan and Liv after practice. We decided to unwind for a bit. He was bartending at the bar up from the Performance Center. He was… older than me. I thought he was cute, and he thought I was too.” Rhea’s voice was distant as she recalled the initial thrill of attraction, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

“Every night after that, I’d go to the bar. I wouldn’t even drink; I’d just sit there, talking to him.” She hesitated, glancing away as memories washed over her. Jey nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“We went out on a few dates, and eventually, we started dating.” Rhea’s smile faded as she remembered the honeymoon phase turning sour. “But then… I got drunk one time and made a stupid pass at his brother. That same night, he beat the fuck out of me.” Her words were quiet but filled with a heavy weight.

Jey’s heart sank at the confession, and he instinctively clenched his fists, his protective instincts flaring. “Why didn’t you leave him?” he asked gently, desperate to understand her mindset.

Rhea’s gaze dropped to her lap, and she swallowed hard. “It was my fault,” she murmured, a familiar shame creeping into her voice. Jey felt a surge of anger—not at her, but at the circumstances that had led her to believe that.

“Go on,” he urged, wanting her to feel safe to share everything.

Rhea took a moment, collecting her thoughts. “After a while, Tegan and Liv got tired of telling me to leave him. They stopped asking how I was doing.” She paused, the memories weighing heavily on her heart. “One night… after everything, he pushed me to my limit.”

“How?” Jey pressed, his voice a mixture of concern and disbelief.

Rhea swallowed again, her fingers trembling as she looked down. “I woke up one morning.. sore and in bed with three different guys. My panties were off. There was … it.. it was in me… I-“ Her voice broke, and tears pooled in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks.

Overwhelmed by the rawness of her pain, Rhea stood up abruptly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Fuck! Why do you have to make me relive this shit?” she yelled, her emotions boiling over.

“Hey!” Jey said, his voice firm but gentle. “Stop. It’s okay.” He rose to his feet, stepping closer to her, trying to bridge the gap that had formed. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Rhea felt a rush of conflicting emotions—anger, sadness, and the flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, she could finally let someone in. But the weight of her past still loomed large, and she wasn’t sure if she could fully trust again. Jey’s unwavering presence, however, began to melt away some of the barriers she had built around herself.

“Just breathe,” he said softly, reaching out to wipe away her tears with his thumb. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

As she looked into his eyes, she saw sincerity and compassion, and for the first time in a long time, Rhea felt the glimmer of hope that she might find a way to heal.

Rhea sat back down, the weight of her past still heavy on her shoulders. Jey instinctively rubbed her back, his touch gentle and reassuring. After a moment of silence, Rhea managed to collect herself enough to continue her story.

“I confronted him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And he hit me. He just… he kept hitting me.” The memories rushed back, vivid and painful. “He pulled me by my hair and said I was going to keep doing what he needed me to do, so I…”

Jey leaned in closer, his heart racing as he sensed her hesitation. “Rhea, you can tell me. Whatever it is, I’m right here,” he urged gently, his eyes locked onto hers, willing her to open up.

But Rhea stayed silent, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands. The fear of reliving that moment held her captive, and despite Jey’s comforting presence, the past clawed at her.

She took a deep breath, the air thick with unspoken words, and finally whispered, “So I… saw his knife on the TV stand and I quickly grabbed it and stabbed him in the neck. The Terrible Awful happened. ”

Jey was stunned at what Rhea had just revealed. The weight of her words hung heavily between them as she referred to the horrific experience as “the terrible awful.” He struggled to find his voice, his heart aching for her. “What did the cops say?” he asked, desperate to understand the full extent of her ordeal.

Rhea swallowed hard. “It was ruled self-defense,” she replied, her eyes downcast. “One of the guys called 911 when everything was happening.” The realization of how close she had come to losing everything settled like a stone in Jey’s stomach.

Overwhelmed by the information, Jey leaned back in his chair, trying to process it all. “So, I take it Demetri is where he’s supposed to be?” he asked cautiously.

Rhea nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Chapel Hill Cemetery, Space 827.”

“And what about Matt?” Jey pressed, feeling the need to know more about the man who had been a part of her life after the nightmare.

Rhea sighed, her expression shifting to one of deep contemplation. “We met two months after the attack,” she admitted, her tone heavy with emotion.

Jey paused, searching her face for any signs of lingering pain. “Rhea, did you truly process everything?” he asked, genuinely concerned for her well-being.

She sighed again, the weight of her past pressing down on her. “Matt was my escape… just like you.”

Jey stopped short, the word “escape” reverberating in his mind. It was a word that felt loaded with implications, and he felt a chill run through him. The thought of being someone’s escape was both a privilege and a burden.

“Escape,” Jey repeated softly, looking into Rhea’s eyes. “Rhea, I want to be here for you. But I need to know… do you see me as a way to run from your past, or as someone who can help you heal?”

Rhea opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her features. She was caught between her past experiences and the present warmth she felt with Jey. The tension in the room grew stronger as Jey waited for her answer, his heart racing, fearing what she might say next.

The tension between them was thickening the air in the room as they stood in silence. Jey’s gaze was intense, unwavering, his voice low but firm as he asked her once more, the question heavy with a sense of finality.

“Rhea… really think about it. Am I just your escape?”

Rhea swallowed hard, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to reach for him, to close the gap that suddenly felt miles wide, but he took a small step back, leaving her hand suspended in the air. His movement felt like a stab to her heart, a rejection of her touch that only heightened the ache building within her.

“What we have… it’s real,” she said, her voice soft, pleading almost. But the words felt fragile, like they could shatter under the weight of everything unsaid between them.

Jey’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving hers. He didn’t speak right away, giving her a moment to let her words sink in. But he wasn’t letting this go. He pointed to the framed photo by the wall, the one of them with Jeyce and Jaciyah, the photo that represented the life they were building together, the family they had become. It was ready to be packed and taken to their new home in Connecticut, a tangible symbol of the future they were trying to create.

“This… what you say right now affects all of us. Our family,” he emphasized, the words carrying a weight that was almost suffocating. He then pointed gently to her belly, his gaze softening just slightly. “And our child… is in there. Whatever you say… it affects everything, Rhea. Right now.”

Rhea’s breath hitched, her heart rate picking up as the pressure of his words settled on her. She could feel the walls closing in, the intensity of his gaze demanding an answer, an honesty that went beyond any fleeting comfort or convenience.

“Rhea,” he said, his voice softer but no less intense, “Am I just your escape?”

Rhea felt a surge of frustration, the words bubbling up before she could contain them. “Who am I with, huh?” she challenged, her voice growing louder, more desperate. “Who the fuck am I standing here with? Huh? Who the fuck am I pregnant by? Who the fuck is feeding my animals every morning, huh?” Her voice was breaking, each question spilling out like a dam bursting. “Who is pushing me to be stronger?!”

She pushed him, the force of her emotions behind it, as she demanded, “Who the fuck is here with me right fucking now?!”

Jey took a step back, his own anger simmering beneath the surface, his voice rising to meet hers. “So that’s it, huh? I was just your fix all along?”

Rhea rolled her eyes, her frustration boiling over. “Oh, really? That’s where you wanna go with this, Jey?”

“Yeah,” he shot back, his voice harsh and accusatory, “I’m going there, Rhea. Your fix? Like I was just some damn drug to you?”

Rhea’s eyes flashed with anger, her fists clenched tightly. “Yes, my fucking fix, Jey! Because that’s what we were doing, right? Night after night, every damn night. And who was the genius who never used a condom, huh? It sure as hell wasn’t me!”

Jey scoffed, rolling his eyes as the frustration boiled over. “Oh, so now you’re throwing that back at me? Ms. ‘I’ll just take a Plan B in the morning’!”

Their voices echoed in the room, the argument spiraling into a place neither of them intended, raw emotions spilling out like wounds reopened and left untreated.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, and yet here they were, standing at the edge, unsure of where this confrontation would leave them.

Rhea’s voice rang out, defiant and sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife. “Who was the one who said it was more than what it was supposed to be?”

Jey’s eyes flashed with an intensity that mirrored her own. The argument had escalated to heights they had never reached before, and yet neither was willing to back down. “Well, who was the one that showed up at my fucking hotel room in some lingerie?” he shot back, his tone laced with anger, each word dripping with the weight of betrayal.

Rhea froze, her breath hitching. “Fuck off,” she spat, turning away, but Jey wasn’t letting her slip away that easily.

“That’s what you do, Rhea! As soon as anyone starts saying shit you don’t like, you fucking run!” His voice was a harsh growl, filled with the frustration that had been building between them.

She halted just in front of the door to their bedroom, pivoting on her heel. “I don’t fucking run!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls, resonating with her pain.

Jey laughed, but it was a bitter sound, one that held no humor. “What the fuck are you doing now, huh?!”

Rhea’s anger ignited again, and in a moment of rage, she tried to push him again. But Jey caught her wrists, holding her firmly, their faces inches apart. “Who was the first one to say ‘I love you’?” he yelled, his voice rising, filled with raw emotion. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t fucking me!”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, all the air was sucked out of the room. Rhea stopped, her defenses crumbling as she faced him, vulnerability washing over her. “Joshua,” she began, but the words caught in her throat, tears pooling in her eyes.

Jey’s expression softened as he saw the anguish on her face. His grip on her loosened, and he stepped back, the realization of his own anger washing over him like a cold wave. “Rhea…”

But it was too late. She broke, the tears spilling over as she cried out in anguish, the sound raw and heartbreaking. “You don’t get it!” she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest as she buried her face there, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

Jey felt the world tilt as her pain crashed into him, overwhelming and heavy. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her tremors against him, and held her tight. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, each syllable laced with a profound sense of regret.

Rhea’s cries echoed in the small space, an aching testament to all the hurt she had been carrying alone. Jey felt his heart clench, realizing just how deeply she had suffered. He stroked her hair gently, desperate to comfort her, to show her that he was there, right there, in the mess of it all.

“I love you, Rhea,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, a vow he had meant to reinforce through the storm.

She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for the truth. “But what about all the stuff you said?” Her voice trembled, the weight of his words crashing down on her like a wave.

“Fuck that,” Jey replied, a fierce determination igniting in him. “I love you. I’m with you. I’m here with you. I got you pregnant, and I’m going to be your husband. You’re going to be my wife. Fuck all the bullshit. You’re mine.”

His words wrapped around her like a lifeline, pulling her back from the brink of despair. The intensity of his promise, the heat of his love, pierced through her fear.

Rhea’s heart raced, the warmth of his declarations igniting something deep within her. “I don’t want to lose you, Jey,” she whispered, her voice breaking, vulnerability spilling from her like an open wound.

“You won’t,” he vowed, his hands framing her face, thumb brushing away the tears. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, Rhea. No matter what.”

In that moment, with the chaotic noise of their argument fading into the background, Rhea felt the walls around her heart begin to crumble. The pain and the anger that had consumed her were still there, but beneath it all lay the undeniable truth of their love—a force that was unbreakable, fierce, and raw.

“You’re right,” she breathed, a fragile smile breaking through the tears that still clung to her cheeks. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Jey’s relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and he pulled her close again, wrapping her in his embrace. As they stood there, heart to heart, the weight of their shared past began to lift, leaving only the warmth of their love—a love that was scarred but resilient, a bond forged in fire, stronger than ever.

Rhea’s eyes were closed as she savored the moment of peace and serenity that had been absent. The tension that had built up between them due to their heated argument was horrible and it was something they needed to break away from.

Jey gently broke their embrace, his hands tenderly caressing Rhea's arms as he pulled away. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss that made her heart flutter with excitement. She could feel his desire for her as his tongue explored her mouth, and she eagerly responded, her own tongue dancing with his.

Jey pulled back, his eyes gleaming with lust as he looked at Rhea. He reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it up over her head and tossing it aside. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. He leaned in, pressing his lips against her neck, tracing a path down to her collarbone with his tongue.

Rhea moaned softly, her body trembling with desire as Jey's lips made their way down to her breasts. He took one pierced nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as his hand teased the other. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his mouth as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Jey's hand made its way down Rhea's body, slipping beneath the waistband of her pants. His fingers found her clit, rubbing gently in slow circles as she moaned with pleasure. He slipped a finger inside her, feeling her wetness coat his fingers as he explored her depths.

Rhea's breathing became ragged as Jey's fingers worked their magic. She could feel her orgasm building, her body trembling with pleasure as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. She reached for him, her fingers finding his cock through his pants. She stroked him gently, feeling him grow harder in her hand.

Jey pulled away from Rhea, his eyes dark with desire as he stood up. He undressed slowly, his eyes never leaving Rhea's as she watched him. She pushed her pants and underwear down and she licked her lips as she took in the sight of his naked body, her eyes lingering on his cock as it twitched with desire.

Jey climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between Rhea's legs. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a deep, passionate kiss as he entered her slowly. She moaned with pleasure, her body trembling with desire as he filled her completely.

“Make love to me Joshua..” She pleaded.

Jey began to move, his hips thrusting gently as he made love to Rhea. His eyes never left hers, and she could see the raw emotion in his gaze. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her as she met his thrusts with her own.

“Please don’t stop..” She begged as she let out a moan as he hit her G spot.

“I don’t want to..” he admitted.

The room was filled with the sound of their moans and heavy breathing as they moved together in perfect harmony. Jey's thrusts became faster and harder, his body slapping against Rhea's as he drove deeper inside her. She could feel her orgasm building, her body trembling with pleasure as she reached for the edge.

Jey's thrusts became erratic as he felt Rhea's muscles clench around his cock. He groaned with pleasure, his body trembling as he filled her completely. Rhea moaned with pleasure, her body trembling with the force of her orgasm as Jey collapsed on top of her.

They lay there, their bodies entwined as they caught their breath. Jey leaned in, pressing his lips against Rhea's in a gentle kiss. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining with love and affection.

"I love you," Jey whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

"I love you too," Rhea replied, her voice filled with certainty that Jey was not her escape or fix, he was her fiancé, her soon to be husband.

—

Jey and Rhea lay in the bathtub, surrounded by a frothy sea of bubbles, the air heavy with the soothing scent of lavender. The soft, rhythmic beats of SZA’s “Snooze” filled the space, wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Jey’s lips brushed against Rhea’s neck, his gentle nibbles a playful reminder of their love—one that felt both profound and effortless.

As the lyrics floated through the air, “I can’t lose when I’m with you, how can I snooze and miss the moment?” it was as if SZA was voicing the depths of Jey’s heart. He felt so lucky to be with Rhea, cherishing every second of this quiet, intimate time together. He wanted to etch every detail of this moment into his memory, knowing that they were building a life together—filled with laughter, love, and a few absurd conversations.

“Jey,” Rhea said, her tone teasing as she looked at him with those bright, sparkling eyes that he adored. “Will you still love me if I was a worm?”

Jey burst into laughter, his whole body shaking with mirth. “A worm?” he echoed incredulously. “Yeah, I’d love you even if you were a worm. You’d probably wiggle your way into my heart somehow.”

Rhea giggled, clearly enjoying this silly banter. “What about a starfish? You know, just lying there on the ocean floor?”

“Of course!” Jey replied, rolling his eyes playfully. “But if you go and start naming all these things, I’m going to say yes to everything! You could say you’re a rock, and I’d still say yes!”

Rhea laughed, her face lighting up with joy. “So, if I were a rock, you’d just stare at me forever?”

“Absolutely,” Jey grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Because even as a rock, you’d still be the most beautiful rock I’ve ever seen.”

Rhea shook her head, her laughter bubbling up again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous,” he shot back, pulling her closer until she was nestled against him, the warmth of the water enveloping them both.

Rhea felt a wave of affection wash over her, the kind that made her heart swell and her worries fade away. Moments like this—filled with laughter, love, and the freedom to be utterly silly—were everything she had ever wanted. It was a stark contrast to the chaos they often faced outside of this serene bubble.

“Promise me,” she said suddenly, looking up into Jey’s eyes, her voice serious but warm. “Promise me we’ll always make time for this, for us.”

Jey’s expression softened, and he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I promise, Rhea. No matter what life throws at us, I’ll always make time for you. We’ll create our own moments, even if they’re just silly conversations in a bathtub.”

Rhea smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude. “Good, because I plan on being the most obnoxious starfish or worm ever, and you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Bring it on,” Jey said, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on her lips, sealing their promise with love.

They stayed like that for a while, lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside forgotten. The music played on, the candles flickered softly, and the bubbles surrounded them like a cocoon, a reminder that in each other, they had found their safe haven. No matter what form they took—worm, starfish, or something entirely different—they would always find their way back to this love, this home they had built together.

As Jey and Rhea were engulfed in their moment, wrapped in the warmth and intimacy of the bath, the figure standing outside felt a surge of rage boiling within. It could see them laughing and whispering sweet nothings to each other, completely unaware of the darkness lurking just beyond their blissful bubble.

Its grip tightened around the crumpled piece of paper that held their new Connecticut home address. The very address that symbolized their fresh start, their escape from the shadows of the past. But to it, it was nothing more than a target—a mark for its vengeance.

“When the time is right…” it hissed, its voice low and dripping with malice. A sinister shimmer flickered in its eyes as it turned away from the scene before it. They looked so happy, so in love, and it made its insides twist with rage. It had watched their lives unfold, the way they shared moments of joy and laughter… but now.. it so desperately wanted to ruin any chance of continuing to have those moments.

With one last glance over its shoulder, it stepped back into the darkness, its mind racing with plans of how to ruin everything they had built. The paper slipped into its pocket, a tangible reminder of its purpose. As it walked away from the house, it felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, knowing it held the power to shatter their perfect world.

Inside the bathroom, Jey and Rhea remained oblivious, their laughter ringing out like a melody. Rhea leaned her head against Jey’s shoulder, content and at peace, while Jey’s fingers traced gentle patterns on her skin.

But that moment of bliss was tinged with an unsettling feeling that neither of them could quite articulate. Jey, in particular, felt a flicker of unease crawl up his spine, an instinctual warning that something was off. He shook it off, determined to focus on Rhea, on the warmth of the moment, and the love they were building together.

“Hey,” he said softly, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. “You know I’ll always protect you, right?”

Rhea smiled, but a shadow of doubt crossed her face. “Of course, I know that. I feel safe with you.”

“Good,” Jey replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Nothing will ever come between us.”

But outside, the figure walked away, already plotting the chaos it would unleash when the time was right. For now, it would wait, its heart fueled by the promise of revenge, eager for the moment when it could finally invade their sanctuary and turn their love into fear.

—

January 27th, 2025, 4:00 PM.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Jey and Rhea approached the steps of the Mead School, their hearts heavy with worry. After entering the Registrar's office, they were escorted down a long hallway to the principal's office, where they found Jeyce seated, his small figure tense in the chair across from the principal.

The principal, a warm man with a friendly demeanor, stood to greet them. “Ms. Bennett, my daughter is a big fan, and Mr. Fatu, my nephews loved you so much, they dressed as you for Halloween,” he said, shaking their hands.

“Thank you,” Rhea replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but the joy was fleeting.

Jey cleared his throat, his brow furrowed. “Did Jeyce say anything about why he acted out?”

Rhea chimed in, her voice firm yet gentle, “And just so you know, what we do on TV isn’t something we endorse as a protection tactic for our son.”

The principal nodded solemnly. “It appears it was provoked by another student. We want Jeyce to stay at Mead, but we have a five-peats rule—it’s usually three, but we increased it to five last year. We believe every child deserves a fair chance before being expelled.”

Jey felt a sense of relief wash over him, but the seriousness of the situation lingered. “Thank you for being understanding. We’ll talk to Jeyce about this,” he said, his voice steady.

After the meeting concluded, Jeyce followed them out, but his silence weighed heavily in the air. The drive home was tense, the air thick with unspoken words. As they approached their gated property, Jey entered the code, glancing over at Rhea, who wore a small, thoughtful smile. He nodded back at her, though worry still gnawed at him.

Once inside the garage, they exited the car, and Rhea was the first to head upstairs. Jeyce lingered at the breakfast bar, grabbing a granola bar from the dish. Jey leaned against the counter, feeling the urge to connect with his son.

“Jeyce, can we talk?” he asked gently, trying to break through the wall of silence.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jeyce replied flatly, his eyes avoiding Jey’s.

“Why not? You’ve never done anything like this before. Let alone used your lunchbox as a weapon,” Jey pressed, concern etched on his face.

Jeyce’s expression hardened. “I don’t want to be here! I want to live with my real mom!”

Unbeknownst to Jeyce, Rhea had descended back down the stairs to retrieve cell phone from the car and caught the tail end of his statement. The words pierced through her heart like a dagger, and she stopped in her tracks, breathless. The truth stung, and she felt an unbearable weight of sorrow as she turned and quietly made her way back upstairs, her heart breaking.

“What happened to Rhea being your bonus mommy?” Jey asked, his voice a mixture of confusion and hurt.

Jeyce’s anger flared. “I want both of my real parents together like the other kids! Not divorced!”

The words hung in the air, a cruel reminder of the fractures in their family. Jey’s breath hitched as he tried to process what his son was saying. Jeyce, overwhelmed by his emotions, bolted up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door behind him.

Jey stood in the kitchen, his heart heavy, watching his son retreat into his room. He could feel the anger and hurt radiating off of Jeyce, but beneath that, he could sense the confusion and pain of a child grappling with a reality he couldn’t fully understand.

Meanwhile, Rhea made her way to their bedroom, feeling the tears spill over as she shut the door behind her. She sank to the floor, the weight of Jeyce’s words crashing over her like a wave. The pain felt raw and insurmountable, each sob tearing at her heart. She had tried so hard to be a good mother figure for Jeyce, to show him love and support, yet in that moment, it felt like she had failed.

Rhea wrapped her arms around her knees, pressing her forehead to her legs, the tears flowing freely as she grappled with her own feelings of inadequacy. She was his bonus mom, yet somehow, in his eyes, she felt reduced to a mere shadow.

The silence of the room engulfed her, amplifying her loneliness. She thought of Jeyce’s innocent smile, the way he used to run into her arms after a long day, and now, those memories felt tainted. The love she had for him felt heavy in her chest, and she couldn’t shake the thought that maybe she would never truly be enough.

As the sobs wracked her body, she longed for the reassurance that everything would be okay, that they could heal as a family. But in that moment, it all felt too far out of reach.

[starksinner]

Why Didn't You Stop Me?

Summary: You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay.

Pairing: Trevor Philips x AFAB!Reader, Franklin Clinton x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Possessiveness, Fuckbuddies, Unhealthy Relationship, Average GTA Stuff

November 16th, 2017.

It was easy to regret not catching a ride back to Los Santos with Franklin in his sexy white Bravado Buffalo S. 

Regret is easy, regret you know. Regret can grow and grow it does as you make eye contact with the hillbilly jacking off next to the icebox in front of the Yellow Jack Inn. 

After a couple of days gallivanting around the desert shit-pile that was Sandy Shores, Franklin deemed that your weed-fuelled, fuck-filled adventures had reached a necessary end.

Despite his intriguing offers of more shenanigans and freaky sex once you both got back home, you weren’t all that keen on leaving the town of meth production and Republican rednecks just yet. 

“M’gonna go see him,” you sighed, resting your head back against the stained motel pillow. 

Moments before, as Franklin had fucked you raw into the cheap motel mattress, you were met with the smell of blood and piss and cum as your face was shoved into the shitty cushion.

Despite the abysmal scent, the man was taking you so good and so fuckin’ hard, you couldn’t force yourself to care. 

Now though, as you laid sated in your post-climax glow of sweat and semen, the smell against your cheek served as an unignorable reminder of your still bleeding heart. 

That man, that asshole, that meth-head-Trevor-Philips-piece-of-fucking-shit—goddamnit.

You still hopelessly, stupidly, selfishly loved him. The fucked kind of love.

Always caked in blood, smelling like piss after running off to get high and grinning like an evil bitch as he came all over your chin and tits. The smell of the Derelict Motel—the sheets, the pillow, the musty air—was all just a nauseating reminder of how much you missed him. 

Your therapist was gonna kill you. 

“You know that ain’t a good idea,” Franklin murmured, running his thumb over the plushness of your bottom lip.

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but shiver at the way he looked at you, his gaze so soft and so full of adoration. 

He made you feel like you weren't just a burning shitpile of flesh, bones, and substance abuse issues.

Frank is a good friend, a great man, a nice fuck. He was always there to bring you back down to Earth. He was so easy to love and you sure as shit loved him a whole lot. Beautiful fuckin’ man. “He ain’t right in the head about you.”

“We both know he ain’t right the head about nothin’,” you argued, leaning your body over his. Beautiful man.

“And he’s a big boy. He can take it. Whatever I wanna throw at him.” Your legs quickly became tangled, Frank’s hands resting over your hips as you smiled and played with his chest hair. “He can fuck all the people he wants, but I can’t touch or look or fuckin' breathe around anyone but him? He’s a fuckin’ ass.”

“He fell for you, girl. T’s always been crazy an’ possessive, his shit ain’t nothin’ new.” Franklin snuggled your body closer to his, sighing softly as he pressed his face into the warm crevice of your neck. 

He couldn’t control himself, not when he had you like this. You were so hot and so sweet and just so fucking delicious. 

Shit. 

His lips lingered over the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, his tongue reaching out to tease a fading bruise. He did that. He made that. He marked you. 

Fuck.

He groaned as you gave him easier access by raising your chin, letting him worship you like the real fuckin’ princess he always thought you were.

“He was fuckin’ paranoid and possessive in all the worst fuckin’ ways, Frank. I fuckin’ hate him for how he acted when I said I was leavin’ but I still...miss him.” You hummed softly as you felt Franklin’s lips suck right over your pulse point, his teeth just brushing over your delicate skin.

You held down the urge to beg him to bite you.

“Yeah, you miss him, but ain’t nothin’ gonna be solved if you both end up killin’ each other...or fuckin’ each other,” Frank breathed roughly against the shell of your ear as his hand wandered across your stomach and down to your aching clit. 

He immediately preened at your wetness and teased the bundle of nerves with soft, circular motions. You gasped as you felt his cock harden and twitch against your thigh, begging for your pretty fucking attention.

He grinned and quickly shoved a finger into your cunt, making you moan and writhe oh so beautifully against him. “Jus’ come back home with me, baby…”

You could barely solidify your thoughts, whimpering like you were.

His motions were so smooth and perfect and rhythmic. Frank was good at a lot of things, but you considered his talent of fucking you mindless as one of his top three.

You immediately felt your wetness start to leak down your thighs. “If he still isn’t over it...I’ll fuck off, hitch a ride, meet you back at your place…yeah?”

“Yeah, baby,” he gripped your throat just how you like and shoved another finger into you, leaving you mewling and squirming in his grasp. You reached for him, hard and thick in your palm, and squeezed. 

The best girl.

If you were parting ways, Franklin was gonna have you one last time. He understood Trevor’s possessiveness. You were great company, a great fuck, a great woman.

Addicting, hell blazing, heavenly—you were everything. So fuck yeah, he was gonna have you as many times as he possibly could. “Lemme take care of you, babygirl, then you’ll be all good to go.”

The Yellow Jack Inn has never been known for its posh customers or regular demonstrations of human decency, but a man jacking it in front of such a fine all-American establishment is still a sight you couldn’t have properly braced yourself for.

As the ash of your blunt falls to the dirt, your eyes stay transfixed on the man by the icebox as he lets out a disturbing howl and drops to the ground.

His pants are stained, his dick disgusting and soft. He lets out a series of groans as he turns to lie flat on his stomach, his cock scraping against the sand.  

Jesus H. Christ. What a charmer. 

You manage to twist away from the scene in repugnance and perhaps a more sinister part of you in mild delight, settling yourself in the alley next to the bar.

You restlessly attempt to calm yourself against the brick, picking at its shoddy green paint job before you begin rolling another blunt. 

You’re stalling. Like a little bitch. It's embarrassing how much a man can turn you into such a conniving fickle coward. Perhaps not just any man. Your paranoid fuckin’ shitshow of a somewhat ex-lover. 

Embarrassing. Unbecoming. Completely mindfucked. 

You know Trevor’s inside. He’s an enigma, a loud, idiot one at that. Over the noise of clanked bottles and shitty laughter, you can hear him.

Stupid, how much of him you can hear. And see. And smell. And understand. In everything and anywhere and with anyone. He never leaves you even when he’s left you. He never leaves you even when you've left him. He’s a parasite that you’ve coddled, and cared for, and loved and fucked. 

The timber of his voice warms you in a special, fucked up kind of way. It’s familiar and it’s settling and it kills you to know that he’s spent fourteen months ridding you of it. Of him. His clinical insanity has rubbed off on you beautifully. You left and you horribly wish he would’ve forced you to stay. 

God.

Would he kill you? Kiss you? Fuck you? You’re still stalling.

Maybe all three?

Being the oil to a homicidal cannibal’s match, you could never really know what the fuck you were gonna get. You anticipate an explosion, but you’re clueless to its degree. 

You pocket your blunt, walk over the man with his dick in the sand, and open the door to the biggest health hazard in California. 

Chapter 2

a/n: found this oldie from 2021 that i was in the mood to refresh & post! i haven't written in literal years, be nice to me! also, happy ten years to this stupid fucking game. i love u. i feel old (i'm not) and i'm tired (constantly) and i hope you enjoyed (lie to me if you didn't) :3

✧ masterlist ✧ ao3 ✧ send me an ask / let's chat! ✧

[andromedism]

In 2017, I watched “The Gang Tends Bar” as it aired live, and it’s all kind of a blur but I remember three things very clearly:

Sunnyblr was POPPING. To this day, I still see TGTB posts floating around with 10k notes and they are all still so fucking good. My beautiful relics of an absolutely insane time.

Airing A Crickets Tale that very next week is probably one of the most chaotic things that was happening to Tumblr at that time. We were all like, “Mmm, thanks for whatever that was, RCG! So yummy! Now can we have another helping of repressed middle-aged gay men?” and they said, “Okay, sure! Here’s more of that but make it foreboding,” and aired “Dennis’ Double Life” the very next week after THAT.

I didn’t sleep the night TGTB aired. I was a freshman in college and I went to class the next day and just stared at nothing during my lecture because I was so blown away by it. At 18, it was one of the most formative experiences I’ve ever had with television. Raw, emotional moments have always been so much more impactful to me in comedic shows. I still consider it one of the most romantic episodes of any show I’ve ever seen. I’m 25 now, and I have never forgotten the way I felt the first time I saw this episode. My life is entirely different now from February of 2017, but my feelings about TGTB are exactly the same if not intensified.

Bonus Big Feelings:

Once you’ve watched “Dennis’ Double Life,” TGTB reads so differently—it hurts so much more. Because you know how it ends for them and you never get closure. YOU NEVER GET CLOSURE.

Something about Glenn’s hair being outstandingly hot in S12 really brought everything together, that year + heightened the pining. He would do something and we’d all be like “ok work!”

Season 16 is the closest I’ve felt to Season 12 levels of deranged. I think this makes sense since S16, stylistically, reminds me the most of classic Sunny and somehow, also, every macden fic I’ve ever read.

I never had a good reference point for whether other people outside of Sunnyblr read that episode as incredibly queer, or Just Guys Being Dudes, but most of my comms class watched this show, and we were all foaming at the mouth talking about it the next day. Everyone was like, “Oh my god! It’s getting gayer! We won!”

Reflecting on where I was in life when TGTB, and when this most recent season aired, I can’t help but wonder where we’ll all be if they touch noses. Season 24 is our seasons guys.

[arsenal-womens-1]

United by Love 3

I had been at Orlando since 2017. Don't get me wrong, Orlando will have a special place in my heart for giving me a chance, but with this, I get to play with new people, make new friends, and play differently, creating opportunities that I wouldn't be able to do at Orlando. Keep in mind that I've only signed a one year contract. Who knows what will happen?

I untangle myself from the blankets and stumble across the room, the wood floor cold on my feet, opening the door to the bedroom, looking in the mirror, seeing how much of a mess I look, walking over to the glass door that separates the shower from the room,

Opening the shower door, the water was hot enough. I stepped in and just let it fall down my back. With a sigh, I tilted my head back, letting the hot water fall down my body. As the steam fills the air, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of the new opportunities awaiting me, both on and off the field.

Grabbing the shampoo, squeezing some into my palm and lathering it into my hair, letting it sit there for a minute, then washing it off and doing the same with the conditioner, grabbing the body wash and sponge, lathering it on, then I scrub all over my body, making it red raw.

Grabbing the towel that was on the rack and wrapping it around my body, I stopped the water and leave the bathroom. Drying myself off, I couldn't help but wonder about the path I had chosen and the opportunities that I had turned down and accepted. Sometime I get the feeling that I chose the wrong path but it's to late now to change it .

[bloodyknucklesforme]

I Am Hungry, I Have Been Hungry | Carnal XVIII

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Nina, Simon and Johnny get ready for Christmas

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, rape/sexual assault mention, smut

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Abbey by Mitski

They sat there like rabbits in a warren. Nina took Johnny’s wrist and moved his hand from her hair to her face, kissing the palm of his hand. He’d cut himself with the knife the night before, not deeply but it could scar. Above her, Simon was kissing Johnny. One of his hands held Johnny’s cheek while the other held her calf firmly. 

“Our girl” is what Johnny said. She wanted to be their girl. Wanted to be part of something. She never thought being touched could be so comforting. Her father, the men at the hospital, Arthur, the men at the club. She could still feel how tightly they’d grip her arms. Simon’s touch was soft along her leg, despite the callouses. Watching them kiss - she wanted to be loved like that. 

She sat up. They stopped and looked at her. Her hands shook as she leaned in, kissing the side of Johnny’s mouth. Let her in please, please oh please, just let her in. Simon cupped the back of her head and pulled close. She ended up straddling one of each man's legs. Johnny was rubbing her back under her sweater. Simon was playing with the hem of her dress. 

She held their shoulders. Lips and teeth and tongues clashing together in a splendid melange. A large calloused hand made its way up her thigh to her centre, knuckles dragged against her covered slit. 

“Do you want me to?” Asked Simon, nuzzling her face. 

“Yes,” She whimpered. 

Simon slid two fingers under the gusset of her panties. Johnny’s grip on her tightened. She closed her eyes, letting their hands keep her from floating away. Simon played in her wetness, dragging his fingers between her folds. Johnny’s mouth was on her neck. She was trembling as they bounced her attention between them. 

“We got ya. Does it feel good?” Johnny’s fingers tangle in her hair, his other hand holding her hip steady.

“Our girl, our good girl.” Simon growls, rubbing his face against her chest. She gasped as Simon pushed a finger inside of her. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Simon’s shoulder. Coos and praises filled her head like smoke. 

Two fingers pumping in and out. She gripped them, fingers shaking around woollen knits. Simon’s thumb rubbed circles around her clit. It was almost too much, she wanted to flinch away, it was good but strange. Her orgasm came as a surprise. Her back arched, Johnny and Simon kissing opposite sides of her face. She gasped and choked. 

“Do you want more, love? Want Johnny to take care of you?” Simon brushed her hair off her sweaty forehead. She turned and greedily kissed Johnny, something passionate, hungry. He pulled her fully into his lap.

He carried her upstairs, over his shoulder she watched Simon follow, licking his fingers clean. 

Johnny laid her down on the bed as gently as he could. Kissing down her chest until he reached the bottom of her sweater and could pull it up and over her head. Simon sat down beside her head, stroking her cheek and resting a hand on the back of Johnny’s head. 

Her dress was slid down her body, she shuddered as the cold air caused her nipples to harden and goosebumps rise over her arms. Johnny kissed down her stomach. Simon moved to lay down next to her. 

The bedroom was dark, the only light came from the hallway through the half closed door. The shadows made Simon’s face distort. Features changing as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Her stomach tossed about. Every time she blinked she saw a boot come crashing down, cracking open the front of his skull. 

She felt hot, sweat building in every bent joint. Her chest was getting smaller, her heart struggling to beat in rhythm. 

“Johnny, stop.” Simon said, pushing him by the shoulder. “Nina, look at me. You’re okay.”

There was a roaring in her ears. She pulled her knees up to her chest. She was an animal trapped between two predators. She moved her arm up to her mouth. An old scar ready to open up again. This cursed room, this cursed house, this cursed life. She bit down. 

A familiar taste but not hers. She felt no pain, just the gentle soothing of a hand on the back of her head. She was crying as she was lifted into Johnny’s lap and Simon moved behind him, enveloping both of them. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled through a full mouth. 

“Nothing to apologise for.” Johnny kissed her temple. Her jaw went slack as her heart rate calmed, matching Johnny’s pulse in her mouth. Her muscles ached as she let go of Johnny’s arm. Simon replaced it with his hand, putting pressure on the wound. 

“I told ya you wouldn’t ever have to hurt yourself again. I keep my promises.” Johnny said, kissing her temple. “Let’s get ya cleaned up.”

The air in the house felt different. There was something stale drifting about. Johnny complained about her opening all the windows despite the snow. She paced around the house in endless loops, Johnny following behind trying to keep her company. His arms around her waist and his chin on her shoulder any chance he got. She liked it. He was always warm. 

Simon was different. He was affectionate in small doses. Tucking her hair behind her ear, stroking her cheek, kissing her forehead. He seemed hesitant to do much else. She wanted more. Maybe it was greedy to want to try again after failing so horribly the first time. 

The three of them hadn’t tried to be intimate again. Simon slept in the spare bedroom if he was home at all. He spent most nights out hunting now. She and Johnny got to spend most nights alone. It was easy with just him. 

Johnny, delicately, would undress her and bury his head between her thighs. Her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging in gentle praise. His fingers spread her open, his mouth around her clit. 

He liked her on top when they fucked. His hands guiding her hips. He’d lean up to nip at the tender underside of her breasts. She liked how he called her pretty when she came. She missed feeling Simon’s eyes on her. 

Johnny and Simon would have their own moments alone in the stables. She’d watched them once or twice, maybe more. Standing on an old bucket, peering through a window. Coils of muscle and flesh wrapping around each other. Johnny didn’t nip at Simon, he bit him. They clung to each other like drowning victims. Their scars would line up, healed tissue sewing them together. It made her stomach warm. Did they know she was watching? Could they smell her and the wetness between her legs? 

“Mine,” Simon growled. 

She felt a twinge of jealousy. It felt more passionate between them. There were memories there. Love there. She wanted to be loved like that. She’d rush back to the house, hands shaking and cheeks on fire. 

She felt like ever the stranger in her own house. 

“I called to ask if I’m still welcome for Christmas dinner,” Price chuckled over the phone. She’d forgotten how close the holiday was. Price had been coming over for Christmas eve dinner since she could remember, always among her father’s other friends until his death. Then it was just Price.

“Of, course. I can do all the traditional stuff. Beef wellington, potatoes, sticky pudding. Whatever you like.” 

“I’d like that, Nina.” He sighed. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, ummm… I’m great. Johnny’s good too. We took his stitches out a while back, he complained the whole time but we’re good.” She couldn’t tell him everything. She never could. The burden of a father was, she supposed, never knowing everything. Price would never punish her, wouldn’t hit her or withhold food but she didn’t want to disappoint him all the same. “I know it's hard to understand but they’re like me. They understand. I never thought there were other people like me.”

“As long as you’re okay, Nina. They’re my men, I trust them. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it but as long as you're safe I’ll deal with it.” All their conversations felt half made, sentences dangling around like leftover birthday streamers. “I’ll see you on the twenty fourth.Take care of yourself, love.”

“You too.”

She’d never been one for Christmas, or any holiday. She enjoyed spending time with Price but the last few years Arthur had always started a fight as soon as he left. The boys wouldn’t do that though. It could be nice this time. Could be something to look forward to. 

She had Johnny help her dig out the old decorations from the cellar. Tinsel, baubles and a little nativity scene. They took Simon’s car to pick up a tree in town. 

“Could we go to the Christmas market one night?” She asked on the way back. She’d never actually gone. Only seen them on the telly. 

“Course we can,” Johnny smiled. He loved Christmas. Simon caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. His expression was neutral, it often felt like he watched her and Johnny like they were characters in a film.

She held both their hands as they walked around. The smells made her dizzy. Wine, oranges, gingerbread, cinnamon, pine, sugar, berries. It felt like something out of a holiday card. 

“You don’t have to waste your money on us,” Johnny said as she got them another basket of chips.

“I have a whole inheritance I’ve never used. You’re the ones who haven’t worked in over a month.” Simon chuckled while Johnny tried to deflect. It was a decent amount of money and it had grown thanks to Price choosing various investments for her. The joys of having two dead parents. 

She used that thought to justify the several bags of trinkets she’d gathered up over the night. Simon, dutifully holding them for her. Reaching around her to always take them from the stand owners before she could. 

She wondered what to get them for Christmas. She’d most likely have to order it online since one of them was almost always at her side. She wasn’t sure she was ready to venture out that much on her own. With the current weather Simon would carry her before letting her walk to town alone. She should have taken Price up on his various offers to teach her to drive. This Spring, maybe.

“Be right back,” Johnny said, disappearing into the crowd. She stuck close to Simon, his hands on her shoulders guiding her around, keeping her in his shadow. They stood off to the side, watching all the other people, the normal people. She swayed absentmindedly to the music. She saw Miss. Carter glowering at them from across the town centre. She tugged on Simon’s hand. 

“Let’s find Johnny.” She turned in towards his chest, trying to push him away from the crowd. He nodded and took them towards the mulled wine stand. He got her a cup. 

Simon took Nina’s chin and tilted it upwards, pouring mulled wine into her mouth before licking any dribbled liquid away. 

“Let’s let Johnny find us.” He pulled his jacket around her, tucking her head under his chin. He was gone the next night - hunting again. 

The nights he spent hunting were the only ones he’d sleep in their bed. He’d crawl into bed with her and Johnny in the early morning, smelling of blood and old straw. He always shivered a bit, even though he tried to hide it. His hair was damp. He was spraying the blood off his skin in the stables and then trudging back with a cooler of meat to the house.

She started leaving clean clothes out on the tack bench for him. She’d wake up early just to make tea for him, setting it on the bedside table for him. Taking care of him and Johnny felt like half repayment and half an attempt to dispel them of any thought of leaving her. Any excitement for the holiday disappeared when she remembered New Years followed and after New Years they’d be deployed again. 

She wandered outside early one morning. An old wool coat over her nightgown, thick socks in old boots and pack of cigarettes in her pocket (stolen from Simon’s coat). She sat on the stone column wall that separated the patio and the rest of the garden. It was snowing softly. She alternated which hand she kept in her pocket and which one she held her cigarette. 

She heard Simon’s car pull around front. It wouldn’t be long before he found her. She should have brought out tea in a thermos. 

“S’too cold for you, love. Catch your death out here.” His hair was damp. He left the cooler by the door before approaching, making space for himself between her knees and pulling her coat tighter around her and the flimsy cotton nightgown she’d ventured out in. 

She pulled another cigarette out from the pack in her pocket, offering it to him. He took it between his lips and held her chin steady as he lit it from the end of her own. She took a drag, “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“What’s keeping you up, lovey?” 

Her eyes were unfocused, gazing towards something non existent behind him. She was picking at the skin around her nails, he laid his hand over hers. She looked up, locking eyes with him.

“I want you to touch me.”

He rubbed his hand over hers, “I am touching you.”

“Please Simon. I need to feel like I’m not broken.”

He dropped his cigarette and cupped her face between his hands, “Don’t say that. They did not break you.”

Her face crumpled up, her whole body shrinking down in his grasp.

“I don’t…I don’t want you two to leave.”

“We’re not leaving. Shhh…don’t cry, lovey. We don’t plan on leaving you.” He pulled her into his chest. 

“I don’t want to be alone. You’re the only people who understand.” He hushed her, stroking the back of her head. 

“We’re family. The three of us. It’ll always be us.” He took her cigarette from her and stubbed it out.

“Then touch me…I want to do it, the three of us. I can do it.” She pleaded.

He pressed his cheek against hers, his mouth against her ear. “I want to fuck you, Nina. I want you; willing and confident. I want to taste you, watch Johnny fuck you, keep you pressed between us. But I don’t want you to force yourself. I don’t want you out here, begging in the cold. Johnny and I will wait till you're ready. Truly ready. ”

She pulled away, cheeks red as she rubbed her tears away. “What if I’m never ready?”

“It wouldn’t change anything. You’re stuck with us, forever.” He kissed her cheek. “ You're cold. Get back to bed with Johnny. I’ll be there soon.”

“Can I wait for you?”

“Course.”

She sat on the top of the stairs as he went down to the cellar, listened to him unpack the cooler into the freezer. 

“We’ll need a second one soon.” He called up to her. 

“We have enough. You don’t have to work so hard. It’s dangerous to go out every night.” 

“Need to make sure you’re well fed while we’re gone.” He walked up the stairs till he could rest his chin on her knee. “Johnny’s promises are mine too.”

Simon got into bed first, Nina curled up to his side and he pulled Johnny into the other one. He was warm. 

It was the first time she’d worn makeup since Arthur. She had a new dress too, nothing fancy, plaid with ruffled straps. She’d kicked Simon and Johnny out of the kitchen. She wanted this meal to be special. She also didn’t know if Price would trust it if she wasn’t the one to make it. It was the only time she enjoyed cooking. It was a tradition started by her and Price, after her father and before Arthur.

“Got to let me do something, bonnie. Feeling useless out ‘ere.” Johnny stuck his head into the room. 

“Could you set the table?” He nodded with a grin, rushing in to grab the place settings. 

“Smells fantastic by the way.” He pecked her cheek.

She was very meticulous in laying out all the food. The two extra place settings allowed for a wider spread. She had Price at the head of the table, her on one side and Simon and Johnny on the other. This was the one night she liked using this room. Christmas Eve supper wouldn’t feel as special at the small table in the kitchen. She tried to push all the bad memories out. 

Dinners with all her father’s friends where the particularly disgusting ones would pinch the back of her thighs as she walked past. One of them had cornered her in the kitchen one night. Price walked in, thankfully. His rage wasn’t directed at her but it still frightened her. She didn’t remember that man’s name but she did recall hearing he fell out of a helicopter on his next deployment. Dead on impact.

She poured herself a glass of wine, drinking it down quickly. She was rageful in that moment. Her life picked and prodded at by the men in her life. Her desires used against her, never anything given, always taken. 

Here she was, finally with two men who understood her, respected her, might even love her and she struggled with their touch. Everything she wanted was just out of her grasp. 

“Price just texted saying he’s a couple minutes out…you alright, bonnie?” Johnny was frowning at her from the doorway. 

“I’m okay.” She wiped her tears away, careful of her makeup. He walked up to her, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.” He smiled. “Stay here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, feeling embarrassed. She hated crying in front of men, even if it was Johnny. 

He returned with Simon. Who was freshly shaved and his hair clipped short. He looked handsome. Johnny had resisted cutting his hair short, waiting till the last minute so his mohawk had grown out to be a patch of curly hair. 

“We have something for ya,” Johnny grinned, pulling a small wrapped box from behind his back. “I picked it out but it was mostly Simon’s idea.”

They went on either side of her as she unwrapped it. It was a little black cardboard box. She pulled the top off and it was a necklace with three little gems at the centre of the chain.

“Each one is supposed to be one of us. Sapphire for Simon, nacre for Nina and jade for Johnny.”

“You’ll always have us with you,” Simon said. Once upon a time, she hoped Arthur would surprise her with a ring. She liked this better. “I want to see it on you.”

Johnny held her hair up and Simon put it around her neck. 

“Beautiful.” Simon smiled, fixing the chain so the charms sat centre on her chest. 

She felt loved, fingers rubbing over the gems. Her boys - always with her. 

Dinner went smoothly. Price wouldn’t stop complimenting her and the food. She got him a first edition copy of a Georges Simenon mystery novel. He got her a John Le Carre novel. They always gifted each other books. Always had. He told embarrassing stories about Simon and Johnny from work. 

“Would have preferred if you took me up on my offer to set you up with Garrick,” he chuckled. “He’s a proper bloke. Better than this lot.”

“I like this lot.” 

“They’d get an earful if you didn’t.”

“They’re good to me.”

“Good.” He smiled.

She walked him out to his car while Simon and Johnny cleaned up.

“I’m proud of you, Nina. Truly. Despite everything you’ve grown into a wonderful young woman. I don’t understand everything about you and I don’t think I ever will but I’m happy you found those two. I want you to try to get out more. MacTavish for sure would jump at the chance to take you on a trip somewhere.” He hugged her. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thank you, John… I love you.”

“I love you, too, Nina.” He kissed her cheek as a final farewell.

They boys had packed everything away. 

“Meet me in the living room. I have gifts for the two of you.”

“Gifts are normally given in the morning, you know?” Simon said, sitting on the couch next to Johnny. 

“You guys gave me one already.”

“Aye, fair enough.”

She grabbed two gifts from under the tree. A bottle of bourbon for Simon and a set of new pencils for Johnny. 

“Thank you, lovey.”

Johnny got up to thank her but she motioned for him to sit back down.

“I have one more gift.”

“That so, bon?”

“It’s from me to me but I still need you two to help.” Simon raised an eyebrow and leaned back, waiting.

She took a deep breath. It would be okay. It would feel good. Their touch was always gentle. Johnny looked at her like she was something sacred. Simon - like he wanted nothing else in the world. Her choice. Her boys. Her body in their hands. A safe place. A home.

She pulled the straps of her dress down and off her shoulders till the whole garment fell to the floor. She resisted the urge to cover her bare breasts. 

They got up together. Johnny at her back and Simon at her front. He held her face like it was the only thing holding her up, kissing her greedily. 

“Promise me you’ll say if you want to stop.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

Johnny kissed down her shoulders and back till he was tugging her panties off. Simon followed suit down her chest and stomach till he was level with her centre. 

“Johnny hold her up,” He said, hiking one of her legs over his shoulder. Johnny stood and held her waist, keeping her steady. Simon stared up at her, “Look at me, Nina.”

She locked eyes with him as his tongue spread her open. She grabbed his shoulder and Johnny’s forearm. 

“Told him how you like it,” Johnny chuckled. She leaned her head back against his chest. He’d done a good job. Simon seemed to already know her. Rubbing her clit as he teased her entrance with her tongue, lapping up her wetness. Johnny rubbed circles on her hips. His cock was hard against her ass through his pants. 

Simon waited till she was a mewling mess before pushing a finger inside of her, curling it up to press against the spot inside her, trapping her nerves between his tongue and finger. 

“Gonna watch ya cum on his face.” Johnny said, kissing and sucking marks against her neck. His hand glided up her hip to her breast to massage it. 

It felt good. Better than good, incredible. She let herself melt between them. All the muscles in her body stretched out like a rubber band before snapping in a scream. Simon groaned loudly as she clenched around his fingers, his mouth moving wildly to cover as much of her as he could. 

They laid her on the floor, pillows under her head and hips. Johnny was licking Simon’s face clean. She was still coming down from her first orgasm as she watched them strip each other. Simon’s hard cock matched the rest of his stature. It made her stomach flip seeing him grind against Johnny’s. 

Simon broke their kiss to look at her, “I want to watch our boy fuck you. Is that okay, Nina?”

She nodded, holding out her arms for Johnny. He was on her in a moment. 

“Simon get you ready for me?” He cooed, peppering sloppy wet kisses across her jaw. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“Please, please Johnny.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and spread her legs for him. Simon held one of her ankles and squeezed reassuringly.

His first thrust stole the air out of her lungs. The head of his cock bumping against that spot. Simon was guiding his hips. “There we go, find your rhythm, don’t leave her wanting. Good boy, Johnny.” 

Johnny always looked her in the eyes when they fucked. Sweaty foreheads rubbing against each other. He had beautiful blue eyes that made her feel so adored. Their noses clunked together as he panted. 

“Taking me so well. You feel so good, Neen. Wanna make you cum again. Can you cum again for me, bonnie?” He was drooling. Simon’s hand slid between them to rub her circles around her clit. 

“Where do you want him to cum, love? On your stomach?... Inside you?” Simon’s voice was deeper, more gravely. His eyes were darker. 

“Inside, please.” She had to know what it felt like. To be filled, to be claimed. She was their girl. She wanted it. She chose it. She wanted both of them. 

The room smelled of sex. Johnny was grunting with every thrust. It was wet and warm and wonderful. Her own slick was dripping down, splattering across her thighs. 

“Please, Johnny. I…I’m…I’m…” Her words got swallowed by another scream as she came again, clenching hard around him. Johnny moaned loudly, picking up his thrusts as he chased his own end. 

It was strange but not unwelcome. Johnny’s cock twitched inside her and she could feel warmth spreading throughout and seeping out where their bodies met. He gave her another kiss as he rolled off her, resting with their shoulders and thighs pressed against each other.

Simon knelt over both of them, hands rubbing thighs and stomachs and chests. 

“You both did so well.” His cock was red and dripping precum down the shaft. She reached out for him. He took her hand, kissing her knuckles. “You sure, love? You ready for me, pretty girl?”

“I want both of you. I want it. I want you, Simon.”

He hooked his arms under her armpits and pulled her up. His back against the couch and her straddling him. 

“I want you like this. Want to see your face.” He kissed over Johnny’s marks. Two fingers curled inside of her, scooping out Johnny’s spend. He beckoned the other man over and forced his fingers into his mouth. Johnny’s eyes rolled back as he sucked. “I want you to prep yourself for me. Our girl likes to watch us too.”

She turned red. 

“Think we couldn’t smell you?” He nipped her collarbone with a laugh. “Could smell your sex the whole walk back.” He licked up the column of her throat. “Been dreaming about this.”

She held onto his shoulders as she sank down on his cock. 

“Take it slowly,” he groaned, holding her hips. She did, moaning at every inch that she took inside her. Johnny rubbed her lower back. He had her take Johnny first for a reason. She tried to bury her face in his shoulder and his hand held the back of her head. “I want to look at you.”

He guided her hips, breathing with her till he bottomed out inside her, the head of his cock pressed against her cervix. Her thighs were shaking. 

“My good girl,” He kissed away the sweat droplets on her face. It was slow, him rocking up into her, watching every twitch of her face. Johnny was next to them, laying on his stomach as he stretched himself open on his own fingers. “Can you give me one more, love? Let me fill you up too?”

She nodded slowly. Her nerves felt on edge, sending off random signals to the rest of her twitchy body. Simon kept her clit between two of his fingers, rubbing back and forth. She was building back up, her stomach tightening again. Her limbs felt loose and jellied. 

She arched backwards, her chest pressing against him, Johnny had to stop to help Simon hold her up. She was shaky and whining as Simon pulled her flush against him. His last thrusts were harder, chasing after his pleasure. He growled as he came, his spend mixing with Johnny’s. He let her rest against his shoulder.

“Fuck…You did so well for us, love. How are you feeling?”

“Was it good for ya, bonnie?” 

She couldn’t form words, her mouth opened and closed with smiles and nods of her head. They both chuckled as Simon laid her back down on her pillows. 

“You still feel up to watch?” Simon pushed her hair back. She grinned up at him. “Let’s give her a show, Johnny.”

It was better up close. Simon had a hand around Johnny’s throat, not choking, just holding. His chest against Johnny’s back. The sound of skin slapping against skin and Johnny’s wanton moans. Simon grunted and growled. There was a new warmness inside her. Johnny was holding his cock, letting Simon’s thrust move him back and forth in his own grip. She reached between her legs and scooped up their mixed spend. 

“Oh fuck…Nina.” Johnny moaned, watching her clean her fingers. Simon smirked down at her, picking up his pace. It was salty but not unpleasant. She groaned around her digits. “Si, I’m close. Fuck… please.”

“You going to ruin our girl’s rug?”

“Si, please. I can’t-”

“Ask her where to cum.”

They both looked at her, Johnny pleadingly and Simon with a devilish smirk.

“In my mouth.” Johnny’s head flopped backwards against Simon. 

“C’mere, love.” Simon beckoned. She moved in front of Johnny. It didn’t matter she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this. It mattered that it was Johnny and Simon. It was their first time. Her first time. Nothing else mattered. It was them, only them.

She opened her mouth and took the head of his cock, swirling her tongue around it. Johnny didn’t last. He came as she licked at his slit, filling her mouth. She looked up at him to watch him crumple. She swallowed him down and cleaned him. Simon grunted harshly and his thrusts stuttered out. 

“Mine,” he growled. “Both mine.”

The three of them collapsed onto the floor, Simon making his way to the middle, tucking them each under an arm. 

“Happy Christmas to us.” Johnny breathed. “I want a fucking cigarette and a glass of whiskey.”

“I have a gift for you first,” Simon said, sitting up. “For both of you but Johnny you’re first.”

“Aye?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I want you to bite me. Mark me. Nina beat me to marking you but… I’m ready. I want it.”

Johnny shot up. She could see the emotions run across his face: surprise, fear, excitement, love.

“Where do you want it?” He smiled. 

Simon stretched his back and arms before pointing towards his trapezius muscle, where his shoulder met his collarbone.

“Don’t get too deep. We ship out in a week.” He turned back to pull her up next to him. “I want you to do the other side. If she gets a necklace, I want this.” 

Johnny grabbed disinfectant and bandages. 

“You sure, Si.”

“More than anything, Johnny.”

Nina held his other arm, both her hands fitting into his one. He squeezed tightly as Johnny bit down on him. He breathed hard through his teeth. She watched his cock twitch as blood ran down his chest. Johnny pulled back, red lipped. 

They cleaned up the bite before Nina went. Johnny held her hair out of the way.

“Right here, love.”

He and Johnny were the only people she ever met that didn’t smell like food. Though her mouth had never watered more than right before she sank her teeth into Simon. Johnny moaned behind her. Simon’s hand rested on the back of her head. 

“Good girl,” he breathed. She pulled away and was immediately pulled into a kiss by Johnny. It was the second time she’d tasted both of them at once. This one was sweeter. 

“Me next.” Johnny laughed. “Thinkin of havin ya take a chunk outta my arse.”

“Price won’t grant you leave again, even if you can’t sit down.”

“Here then.” He patted his upper arm, “I’ll have you and Nina on the same arm.”

Nina wiped it off with disinfectant.

“Thank you, nurse.” He tapped her nose playfully. He leaned close, “If you want one too, you can.”

“I don’t know where I want it.” She wanted it to be somewhere she could always feel them but nowhere Price could see. A secret for the three of them. 

“You have time to think. We won’t rush.”

“I wouldn’t mind biting your arse-fuck me!” Simon bit down on Johnny’s arm, his eyes rolling back as blood filled his mouth. 

Johnny panted as Simon cleaned up the wound. Nina cleaned up Simon’s face. 

They laid on the floor, Simon pulling a blanket off the couch to cover them up. Nina was spread out over top of them. They were tangled together, not sure which limb belonged to who. 

“I love both of ya,” Johnny said, squeezing each of their hands. “So much actually.”

She’d heard it before from others but it didn’t matter because it didn’t come from either of them before so it was the first time it mattered.

“I love you, Johnny. I love you, Simon.”

“I love you, Nina. I love you, Johnny.”

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

[lola-andheruniverse]

Fix It Wednesday - Caryl Fanfiction Rec

Dear fellow carylers, this fic is a fix it (because it corrects a wrong) with a twist (because it brings someone's that is dead back to life to make it even more interesting).

When it's Over, written by Marie1063/@haircoveredwriter, is posted on 9Lives. Summary: Finding Carol in the slaughterhouse was the end of it, or so Daryl thought. But things are much worse though he could have ever imagined ... the unexpected return of someone from her past could be the final blow that breaks her. Can he help her hold on?

AU around the time frame of "The Same Boat". Also, implied timeline/storyline liberties taken in earlier season.

Rating: M Word count: 14.444 (04 chapters) Published: October 21, 2017 (completed) I remember reading somewhere that this author was a poetic angst queen and, oh, dear fellow carylers, she really is. This beautifully-written story gives us Daryl actually reaching out and taking care of Carol after the events of S7 'The Boat'. And our Carol accepts him, without closing herself down. The aftermath of 'The Boat' could've been a huge turning point for caryl if TPTB had explored it, so to have it handled so carefully in fanon is a relief and a joy. Let me highlight two quotes that I particularly love and describe to perfection their POVs before they reach resolution together: "Perfect depictions of suburbia surround her. Even under the twilight skies, Alexandria’s manicured lawns and pristine streets taunt her suffering heart; constant reminders she doesn’t belong here anymore, meager attempts at humanity be damned. Carol cycles her fingers through the low hanging air, swelling pressure pushing back against unfeeling tissues and haunting memories numbing her raw nerves’ responses. She just wants to forget."

"It’s been building for a while; shit, he should have known. Maybe he’d been too blind or ignorant to see what was right in front of him, not believing he could truly lose her when she still stood before him. But now, Daryl wasn’t the one suffering most from his negligence."

Beautiful, isn't it? The resolution is even better, their happy ending all they deserved. Go read it, dear fellow carylers, it's really amazing. Caryl on!

[theseshipsshallsail]

Summary:

Today had been exhausting. To put it mildly. A thick layer of snow enveloped the Upper East Side when Oliver left for work; extending his regular ten minute commute to a miserable, half-hour schlep. His office radiator was on the fritz - everyone and everything demanded his undivided attention - and to make matters worse, he’d skipped lunch entirely due to an irate phone call from his parents.

HEAD ABOVE WATER (IN THE EYE OF THE STORM)

There’s a wash-thin t-shirt from his pre-grad days draped over the dresser mirror: one of several incorporated into Elio’s casual wardrobe since his much-anticipated move to the States. A Yawn is the Body’s Silent Scream it declares in faded, vinyl lettering, yet when Oliver’s jaw cracks twice in as many minutes the bone-deep contentment that follows feels nothing short of euphoric as he smothers the sound in the petal-soft skin of his boyfriend’s freckled forearm. 

To his right, a constant drip-drip-drip emanates from the brownstone’s fire escape. An occasional heavy gust rattles the frosted panes. As with most evenings, next door’s television drones low and muffled beyond the party wall, but their bedroom itself remains a bastion of calm: silent, by and large, save for the unbroken susurrus of their steady inhalations. 

The ubiquitous creak of worn-out box springs. 

The lub-dub ballad of the adagio heartbeat cushioning his cheek, soothing him into a trance-like inertia.

Elio doesn’t mind, however. Not if his indulgent chuckle is any indication. Just carries on humming his latest composition whilst weaving those clever fingers through Oliver’s sweat-damp hair: holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Close your eyes, amore mio,” he whispers at length; each caress an unspoken reassurance in the marginal space between them. “You’ve earned it, no?”

“I shouldn’t…” Oliver mutters, receiving a stubble-rough kiss to his muzzy forehead. “Those Ontology papers -”

“Aren’t due back ‘til Monday,” Elio reminds him: headstrong as always. “And you’ll have all weekend to grade them, regardless.” 

An admirable proposal: though easier said than done with such welcome distractions.

Today had been exhausting. To put it mildly. A thick layer of snow enveloped the Upper East Side when Oliver left for work; extending his regular ten minute commute to a miserable, half-hour schlep. His office radiator was on the fritz - everyone and everything demanded his undivided attention - and to make matters worse, he’d skipped lunch entirely due to an irate phone call from his parents. 

They still haven't forgiven him for cancelling his engagement. For refusing to be railroaded into the status quo. He’d honestly thought himself immune to their bigoted condemnation, but listening to his father rant about selfish perversions soon rendered his appetite nonexistent, and by the time he’d limped back to their Morningside apartment - feet throbbing, migraine building, throat scraped raw by the frigid, December air - Oliver would be the first to admit he was circling the proverbial drain.  

In any event, the rich aroma of basil and marinara greeted him like a warm hug when he locked the front door behind him; Mafalda having gifted them a folder of handwritten recipes to combat the mostruosità ingrassante of American cuisine. Elio - wearing the blue-and-white sweater Oliver’d purchased in Sicily - was curled up on the couch with a German copy of Don Quixote, yet shimmying free of his blanket burrito the shameless clothes thief marked his place in the dog-eared pages, returned the novel to their brimming bookcase, then pointed imperiously at the kitchen table.

“Siediti,” he’d commanded, ushering him into the nearest chair. 

“Eat,” he’d implored, plating up some Pasta alla Norma before pouring a glass of wine. 

Straightaway, Oliver’s stomach growled like one of Pavlov’s dogs, and grabbing his fork he’d speared a chunk of roasted eggplant - groaning in undisguised relief when Elio set about removing his water-logged shoes and socks as he offloaded his petty grievances between absent-minded bites. 

He has a vague recollection of downing the leftover pinot in a single swallow. 

Of an unwavering grip urging him to stand: guiding his leaden limbs towards the moonlit bedroom. 

His memories grow a little clearer after that, and Oliver smiles as he nuzzles the dusky peak of Elio’s nipple; breath escaping on a sigh when a calloused thumb skims the ridge of his gently rising rib cage. Smiles even wider at the blatant reminder of oil-slick palms bestowing a tender massage. The feathery brush of bee-stung lips mouthing southwards that preceded a truly exquisite orgasm.

He’d offered up a grumbling protest at Elio’s insistence he need not reciprocate - though Heaven knows he was far too drained to actually try - and snaking both arms around his partner’s slender waist he’d melted into a boneless embrace; arching like a satisfied tomcat as ghostly fingertips mapped the crest of his liquified spine.

“You’re out for the count,” Elio murmurs then, tracing the curve of his ticklish earlobe. The mottled birthmark adorning his shoulder. “So do as I say, d’accord? Rest. Récupérer. Let me take care of you for once…” 

Again, he means to argue. And very nearly does. But the Hispanic rhythms of their lively neighbourhood aren’t the only things dulled by the unseasonal blizzard, and as Oliver’s muted senses drag him further under, he finds himself immeasurably grateful for the man who’s no longer a dream.

No longer a memory.

His Elio. His malakh. The other half of his earthbound soul.

[rifki16]

Hidamari ga Kikoeru Raw Material, film and Pilot Episode Review Date

In anticipation of the Silhouette of Your Voice (2017) Live-Action series remake, airing on June 26, 2024. I intended to read the manga, as well as, refreshing my memory of the film (2017). However, I don’t think I have the time for it; I’m swamped with my thesis work. I am planning to write a review of the manga, the film and the pilot episode by June 30 - and to upload it here on that day as well.

I’m very amped up for the series. I hope that the LA can give a better justice to the raw material - the manga, as well as, a better disability representation. The film was the first Japanese BL work with disability representation that I have ever consumed. My prejudgment about Japanese society and their relationship with disability is that they are averse to it - with the whole masculinity-driven societal mindset.

I do hope that the LA show can at least try to show a social model of disabilities.

[masonjarsmoments]

Just dreamed Andi won on the normal hill in Trondheim with 551 points because he is the normal hill whisperer and to get that raw air leader bib back that he lost in 2017

[wallisninety-six]

Kick-starting the Rock n’ Roll Revival - The Post-Psychedelic Fun of “Wild Honey” (1967)

1967′s Smiley Smile painted the image of a Beach Boys that is thoroughly, energetically, and creatively spent- especially following the immense stress with the band’s collapse of success, drugs & mental health issues, and the collapse of Smile. But with Wild Honey- the band has never felt more unified and alive. And not only that, they helped initiate major changes not just from within the band, but also to the music world as well thanks to one move...going back to rock and roll’s roots and embracing R&B.

After total burnout and a severely stressful 1967, and with a lot of the music world lambasting the band as “ball-less choir boys” the band sought to re-invent themselves as a self-contained rock act, intentionally distancing themselves away from the lush, theatrical and extremely complex compositions of Pet Sounds and other psychedelic acts that filled the market, and make music that the band could actually enjoy making- recording at Brian’s home with only band-mates and their talents; only a love for R&B, Soul, and Motown driving their music process, more lo-fi than Smile.

However to call this lo-fi, either musically or instrumentally is almost misleading- not less because the newer 2017 stereo transfer of it shows greater musical depth and complexities in the background than ever heard before. Indeed, perhaps the Beach Boys’ greatest yet most underrated talent is their ability to immediately & effectively evoke worlds of fun, love and summer. This is used to great effect in tracks like “Let The Wind Blow”, “Country Air”, and their fantastic single “Darlin’“ and cover of Stevie Wonder’s “I Was Made to Love Her”- using their stripped-down approach with great precision and shining beautifully here. The landscapes they paint with their songwriting and musical chops help blur the lines between psychedelia and rock and roll, in various moods, setting, and form- from hazy countrysides, frantic parties, and flowering declarations of love.

The transition to blues rock for people unaware of the Boys’ later work sounds very unusual- some tracks you’d swear were made by The Rolling Stones in the late-60s. Yet, the psychedelic sound is still here, some songs can’t help feeling still a wee bit druggy or floaty throughout the album- but this shows how the album is considered to be an important transition point from psychedelia to the back-to-basics trend rock made after the Summer of Love, predating such work made by The Beatles, The Band, and even the Doors’ later work in Morrison Hotel- perhaps consequentially enough, Jim Morrison himself was a fan of Wild Honey.

But in the midst of musical evolution, and the return of Brian Wilson and Mike Love’s songwriting partnership- perhaps the real standout star from Wild Honey is the youngest Wilson brother: Carl. Carl Wilson’s voice and performance is even more powerful, that much more soulful and at times raw. His performances in the title track and “Darlin’” command the listener’s attention for just how much the man is giving his all and singing his soul out due to his immense love of Motown and blues music. And as Brian was very slowly ceding his leadership role, Carl’s increased presence in Wild Honey and future albums was consequential as he would soon become the de-facto leader of the band after 1970.

Considering that after 1967, the band members grew older, got married and had kids, and shifted to a more mature image and sound- Wild Honey feels like the final burst of youthful energy from a band that gained its fame partially for their songs’ focus on teenage summer love and fun- it’s still here and very much alive, but the form it takes on is notably different. Considering it’s historicity for being one of the first back-to-basics rock album, and its consequential influence on other major acts, Wild Honey comes close to being as important in music history as Pet Sounds and even Smiley Smile before it- As summer rolls around, it deserves a listen while we ourselves try to find a youthful love of fun & sun once more.

[reyescarlos]

trying my best || a tk strand fic

summary: An exploration of TK's sobriety journey from 2017 to now. Or, a season 3 coda spanning 3x08-3x13

word count: 10.2k || rated: m || read on ao3

a/n: As this fic deals heavily with TK's past experiences with substance abuse and grief over Gwyn's passing, please be mindful of the subject matter and tags before diving in. If these themes are too heavy or personal, I hope you'll take care 💜

Now it's time to let the curtains unfold And tell all the stories that I didn't want told I let it out so I unburden my soul, I won't stop

Day One 2017

Three thousand miles from home may as well be a world or an entire galaxy away. TK certainly feels like a stranger in unknown terrain, crash landed here in California looking out the window towards a completely different ocean than the one he’s known all his life.

Nothing feels right. Even his own body feels unfamiliar to him.

TK flexes his hands as he sits in the intake room, his eyes darting around the walls. There are wellness posters tacked all over and generic watercolor paintings. He supposes the effect they’re going for is calm, but it only serves to set TK on edge.

All the confidence he felt earlier as he stepped away from his mother at the airport’s sliding doors has seemingly evaporated into thin air, leaving him with empty hands that have nothing to hold on to. He chews at his bottom lip, certain he’ll bite the delicate skin raw by the time this process is over. But it’s the least of his concerns right now.

He’s meant to embark on this road to recovery, the specialist across from him assuring TK that he’s doing the right thing by taking this first step. For the first time since he’s sat down, he looks at her fully, his mother’s words echoing in the back of his head.

The next steps you take are yours.

But TK fears the path he’ll wander down without his mother’s guidance or her physical presence. He’s lost his way before. His mother’s faith in him, while generous, may prove to be ill-advised now. And the knowledge of that makes him every bit as sick as the drugs working their way out of his system. He doesn’t want her sacrifice to be in vain, but as he thinks of the daunting journey ahead, it gets hard to muster up self-trust. He isn’t nearly as forgiving with himself as his mother seems to be with him.

He curls in on himself, making himself small in his seat. He counts the specks in the tiles of each square on the floor until his vision blurs and it all begins to look like static before his eyes.

That’s all any of this is anyway. White noise.

As the woman speaks to him, giving a well-worn speech she must have spoken a thousand times over, TK can’t process much of what she’s saying.

He catches a few words though, all expected terms. Detox. Assessment. Specialists.

It’s all the things he’s been afraid of now coming into fruition. He’ll be poked and prodded. Questioned. Monitored. He hasn’t even been here a full day yet and already he feels like a lab rat rather than a person. He knows everything he says and does over the next thirty days will be looked at closely. The thought alone makes his skin itch.

He pulls down the sleeves of his flannel shirt, letting the cuffs partially cover his blue stained fingers, a reminder of the depths he’s recently sunk to. He wishes it could be enough to hide his entire body, to cloak him from the prying eyes he’ll be subjected to over the course of the next month.

He longs for his mother. For New York. For a time in his life when the future seemed boundless. Somewhere along the way, he let his wings get clipped. It troubles him to think he’ll never reach the heights that were once promised.

“TK, are you ready?” the woman asks.

As ready as I’ll ever be, he thinks but doesn’t say. TK merely nods and stands up on shaky legs.

The next steps you take are yours, he hears once again, the refrain like a mantra.

He moves forward, one foot before the other, praying that this time, he’s walking into a better future.

Day Thirty-One

The moment the wheels touch down on the tarmac, TK takes a breath, relief rushing through his veins like blood.

He’s home.

In hindsight, spending a month in California had been the right call. It was impossible not to compare and contrast the version of himself he was a mere thirty days ago with who he was now. That TK had been a relative stranger, some funhouse mirror version of himself stretched and altered so greatly that he could barely recognize his own reflection most days.

He takes a cab to Manhattan, his eyes never leaving the window as he drinks in the familiar sights and sounds of New York. California had served its purpose. New surroundings and people helped to adjust his mindset. Trained professionals worked closely with him to mold him into something he could be proud of. Even on his worst days, the times when self-doubt reared its ugly head, he stayed the course and stuck it out without protest.

He refused to let his mother’s best efforts go to waste. Or his either, for that matter.

Settled back in his apartment, it’s strange how this now feels unfamiliar to him. He spends the morning cleaning up, tidying his space, finding some rhythm in this dance he once knew.

His mother had initially offered to take off work and pick him up at the airport, but TK had politely declined. She’d already done enough and, truthfully, TK needed some time to himself to get something of a routine going again.

They do commemorate his homecoming later in the day the best way they know how— with dim sum on Spring Street.

It’s impossible not to think back on the last time he was here, so drained and dope sick from the drugs he’d pumped into his body.

Thirty days had both dragged and gone by in the blink of an eye. As he rips his chopsticks free of their paper wrapping, it isn’t lost on him just how weak he’d been on his last visit here, so exhausted and encumbered it’d been a struggle to even bring his food to his own mouth.

Shame burns white hot in the pit of his stomach as he thinks back on his outburst during that meal. It’s hard to reconcile with the person he was just a mere month ago.

His mother must sense where his thoughts are now as she reaches a hand across the table and settles it over his. It’s only then that TK realizes he’s trembling.

He looks up and into his mother’s stunning blue eyes, her gaze firm yet comforting as she begins to speak.

“It’s overwhelming, I know. But you’ve come so far. We’re here to celebrate that. I’m so proud of you, TK. I hope you’re proud of yourself too.”

Celebrate the wins, no matter how big or small, he’d been reminded of repeatedly out in California.

This was a big one.

This thing that’s inside of him will always lurk in the corners. TK is hellbent on keeping his demons to the shadows, at the very least. He understands enough to know they’ll never fully be vanquished, but they don’t have to live alongside him either, occupying space. He doesn’t have to give them air.

It had become easier to stave off the urge to revert when he was safe inside the facility with no means of getting his hands on something.

But now, he’s back in his old stomping grounds, returned to a city he knows all too well. TK knows where to look should the urge come knocking. Suddenly the wound inside him feels exposed, vulnerable. But he’s been equipped with the tools to protect himself. That’s a better position than where he stood just a few weeks ago.

He turns his hand, letting it sit palm up and gives his mother’s hand a light squeeze, their fingers interlocking as he’d done so many times as a kid.

The last time they were here, he’d snapped at her, insisting that he wasn’t a baby in need of coddling. But the fact remained, he would always be Gwyneth Morgan’s child. And for that, he would always be grateful.

“I am. I couldn’t have done any of this without you though. You signed me up. You got me on that plane.”

Gwyn smiles softly and shakes her head a little.

“But you saw the program through. I’d say you had the harder job,” she muses.

But TK remembers clearly the agony she’d been through just a month ago at his hands, the sheer desperation in her voice and face as she pleaded with him in this very same restaurant. He remembers all too vividly the strain in her eyes as she fought to keep her tears at bay in California.

He can’t even imagine how deeply she must have dug to find the strength to walk away at those sliding doors, to fight off every instinct she must have felt to go with him the rest of the way.

TK could argue she’s endured just as much as him, just in other ways. Having a front row seat to his battle. Watching her only child suffer. That had to be hell on earth and yet, she kept fighting nonetheless. For him.

“Thank you for saving me…for seeing what I didn’t want to. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you, but you made the sacrifice anyway.”

Her face grows serious though her eyes remain filled with warmth as she stares straight at him.

“I’m your mother. You will always be worth it to me, TK. Always.”

Year One 2018

“When I look back on where I was a year ago…it kinda feels more like a page out of someone else’s story. My past doesn’t have to be my future.”

He looks out at those seated, immediately spotting his parents beaming at him. The pride in their eyes strengthens TK, gives him the courage to keep speaking.

“I know the road ahead won’t always be an easy one. But I feel confident that I can face whatever might be in store for me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. I’m ready to give myself permission to experience the world again. Without fear.”

TK turns the one year chip over in his hand, holds it like it’s gold or some other precious metal. In his eyes, it’s worth so much more than that.

Three hundred and sixty-five days. A milestone. A feat. A goal post he’d been aiming towards that he can now say he’s successfully managed to clear.

He has followed advisement to the letter, hung on to each bit of guidance from his counselor and tips from others in group who knew firsthand the journey he was embarking on.

TK smiles to himself and pockets the coin though he keeps a hold of it, his thumb gently tracing over the smooth surface. It brings him comfort.

“Thank you,” he concludes simply to the group at large. They all clap, some patting him on the back, others murmuring their congratulations to him. It’s a scene he had daydreamed about for so long, it’s a bit jarring to know that it’s real, that he’s truly able to bask in this moment.

Even in the sea of praise from this community he’s come to rely on so heavily throughout this past year, his eyes still find their way to his parents, to his mother in particular. Her eyes shine with a different set of tears than the ones she’d held back last year in L.A. Her words from then still echo in his head, a driving force for this next leg of the race he’s gearing up to run.

He’ll continue taking these next steps, charting a path for himself that leads to continued health and happiness.

Year Two 2019

What a difference a year makes, as he sits across from Alex at dinner, their fingers interlocked on the table.

It was advised that he not date in his first year of recovery, that he’d be predisposed to growing too dependent on his partner. The first year was a delicate time in which he had to learn about himself. He’d taken the guidance to heart in the time since and had focused on keeping his head down, centering his attention on work and himself.

Alex came into his life unexpectedly, at a time when TK wasn’t actively looking. It felt a lot like fate. A reward for all the hard work he’d been putting forth.

As he listens on as Alex tells him about his day, TK can’t help but to smile in pure joy and contentment with where his life has taken him. This is the sense of normalcy he’s longed for. His chance of a happily ever after despite the horrors of his past. Alex sees him and loves him.

It’s only been a few months, but it feels as if the tide has turned once and for all.

He holds on to Alex a little closer. He won’t let this level of happiness slip through his fingers.

Year Three 2020

What a difference a year makes, as he sits on the edge of his bed, his hand clenched into a tight fist around the small baggie of white pills that call to him with promises of comfort and a guarantee of him to forget—if only temporarily.

It’s hardly reverting back to a night in a drug den, he tells himself. A quick score to take the edge of is all he’ll need to be as good as new.

That was the danger in familiar roads. They welcomed a person back like an old friend.

He’d rebuilt himself from ashes, created a whole new foundation. But as he opens the bag now, shakes loose the pills that fall like thick snowflakes into the center of his palm, TK sees it will never be enough.

What was the point in trying anymore when his best efforts ultimately didn’t yield results?

Alex didn’t love him anymore. Hadn’t for months now and TK had been none the wiser. He’d felt Alex slipping away, but it’d been easy to write it off, to blame work and crazy schedules. But what it ultimately came down to, as far as TK can see, is that he wasn’t worth it. Not Alex’s time or his honesty either.

All the hope TK had stored within this man has now gone up into flames. It’s ironic, TK thinks. It was his job to rescue people from burning buildings and yet here he was now, trapped in a proverbial one of his own making that he couldn't escape.

I can’t marry you

I’m in love with someone else

I didn’t want to hurt you

But Alex had gone and done just that, in the cruelest of ways. TK’s worst fear was now realized. It didn’t matter how much effort he put into this, he wasn’t destined to know happiness, at least not for long. He gets it in drips and drabs, short lived flashes that taunt him with mere glimpses of what life could look like. If only he were someone else. The kind of person that gets the prince and a happily ever after.

Instead, this is the kind of story he gets: a tragedy.

TK wakes with a terrifying start and empties his stomach on his living room floor. Somehow it’s daytime, the sunlight coming through the windows reaching his cold skin. His vision blurs at the bodies surrounding him, his ears filling with the sounds of rushed voices. Through the haze of unfamiliarity, he sees his father and TK lunges into his embrace, clinging desperately to his dad as if he’s a life preserver. TK supposes that’s what his father is now, literally and figuratively.

He’s gone adrift. His father has brought him back. Apparently from the brink of death.

A stream of apologies pours from his lips. An I’m sorry for putting myself in danger again. An I’m sorry for not coming to you. An I’m sorry for not being strong enough.

His dad cradles him to his chest and through the blood rushing in his own ears, TK can hear the heavy thumping of his father’s heartbeat. As wild and erratic as TK’s thoughts are now.

This is not the version of himself he ever wanted to be again. Two years of hard work stripped away in a moment of sheer and utter weakness.

As he sits beside his father, staring out at the lights reflecting off the East River later that evening, the full scope of his lost sobriety plagues him. The darkness inside him looms much like the pitch black sky overhead.

“Were you trying to kill yourself?” his father asks, clearly trying to make sense of the situation TK has put them in now.

It’s a fair question and, for a moment, TK hesitates. His eyes catch once more on his beloved city. He wouldn’t want to trade in his life. For as much as each day can feel like a battle, he’s glad for each breath.

What he wanted was a temporary escape. What he needed was a chance to free himself of the unbearable weight crushing against him.

No, he hadn’t gone into this wishing to end it all permanently. He simply longed for time outside of his own mind. He assures his father of as much.

“No,” he replies.

Years of progress erased in one night. His eyes sting with tears he refuses to shed. His father promises tough love from here on out. TK knows it’s fair; he’ll pay whatever penance comes his way as a result of his actions.

“Pack your stuff. We’re getting out of town.”

TK shakes his head. “Dad, please. I am not in the mood for a vacation.”

All he wants to do now is stay in bed, hide under the covers and forget the events of last night and today.

“I’m not talking about a vacation.”

Something in the older man’s tone makes TK uneasy. The finality of those words certainly doesn’t help.

He turns back to his father, brows furrowed.

“Something permanent then?” TK asks incredulously. He supposes he’s in no real position to argue now, but he’s exhausted and irritable. There’s already so much going on in his mind, he can barely think beyond this night.

“Where would we even go?”

Upstate is TK’s first thought. California and back to rehab is his second. He’s completely unprepared for the word “Austin” to fall from his dad’s lips.

What in the world could Texas of all places possibly have to offer him?

“Austin? Seriously? What’s there?”

His father looks away from the Brooklyn Bridge. He looks determined, his eyes piercing, almost haunted. It sends a chill down TK’s spine. His father is at his wit’s end, just as lost as TK feels now.

“A fresh start. A new beginning,” Owen says resolutely.

In TK’s mind, his father has always been like a superhero; very little ever seems to rattle him. For him to be this unsure now unnerves something in TK. If he can’t make Austin work, there may be no saving him.

“I want you to give this all you’ve got, TK. This could be really good for you…if you let it be.”

Austin, TX 2020

To the city’s credit, Austin has surprised TK. He can admit he held some preconceived notions about what life would be like in the south. To his surprise, living with his father again isn’t actually as suffocating as he thought it’d be. They’ve managed to rebuild the 126 and TK is enamored with the team they’ve assembled. He even finds the routine of therapy twice a week to be helpful.

He looks at Austin as the clean slate his father was hoping it’d be and in just about every aspect, that’s been holding true.

But there’s the matter of Carlos Reyes.

It scares him, just how much Carlos has gotten under his skin and right to the heart of him. They were, in his eyes, destined to be nothing more than casual. It should have been simple and yet, things have gotten so complicated, TK can’t even picture his face without feeling haunted.

It was never supposed to go this far.

But this man is…different.

Dinner made in the middle of the night unprompted, candlelit and home-cooked, specially made just for him.

A man so sincere in his efforts that he genuinely wants to hear about mundane things like how his day has been.

It was never supposed to go this far.

In another life, Carlos would be exactly what he wants. But the timing isn’t right and if his failed relationship with Alex has taught him anything, it’s that hope was the most dangerous thing a person could feel.

Carlos’ energy radiates comfort and security. TK is far too afraid to want. Nothing good has ever come from such a thing.  

If he can’t allow himself to accept joy, he’ll fuel the rage that lives under his skin. It’s always there, like a splinter wedged uncomfortably just under the surface.

The Trap is exactly as featured in the pictures on Google with motorcycles lined up outside and music pouring out so loudly it drowns out the small voice in his head that tells him he’s making a bad decision.

This may be ill-advised, but it’s the lesser of two evils, he rationalizes. Seeking out a way to burn through this restless wanting with fists rather than pills seems like a good call.

It takes mere seconds to scope out an easy mark and TK gets a two for one special in the form of two jerks harassing the young female bartender. It’s a win/win. He wastes no time wedging between the two of them, making a real show of getting the woman’s attention and putting in his order.

Their tempers are as short as his and all it takes is a few select words and a smug grin to fan the flames.

He’s been spoiling for a fight all evening. He’s ready for it as the anger from the two guys reach their boiling point. He expertly ducks, avoiding the first swing aimed at him and smoothly connects to make one of his own.

This is a different kind of high. It certainly isn’t healthy, but once more his half-baked rationale insists it’s best this way to cope.

The first punch that lands on him feels good in a sick way, like picking at a scab. He isn’t giving himself the time and space to heal, but it makes him feel something tangible.

He’s little more than an exposed wound himself, he thinks. How else could he explain the position he’s actively put himself in tonight?

It’s the first time in weeks he’s truly felt an emotion other than sadness—aside from his interactions with Carlos.

But he can’t think about him now.

All his anger and frustration has bubbled up to the surface; it needs to be released.

TK lands blow after blow until his knuckles feel raw, the crowd around them cheering on the spectacle. He imagines such a sight is commonplace in an utter dive like this. The boisterous cheers and jeers of drunken patrons egg him on, add more fuel to the fire burning inside his veins.

There are hands pulling at him and in his blind fury, he launches back to swing, but the glint of a badge pinned to a dark blue uniform stops him.

Even in the splash of blue and red lights, he feels nothing the entire time, all the fight kicked out of him the moment he was cuffed.

He’s subjected to a breathalyzer that he knows is routine, but ultimately pointless, and a ride in the back of an APD cruiser to take him down to the station.

His mind feels light years away from his body, existing in some different plane entirely as he is taken from the vehicle and brought inside.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct throw the crimson bruises on his knuckles into sharp contrast against his pale skin. His face is throbbing and he can only imagine his lip and cheeks must look just as bad—if not worse— than his hands. That’s the least of his concern now as Carlos gets situated at his desk.

Of course this is how his night would end.

The two exchange clipped words, the memory of their disastrous midnight meeting far too fresh. TK’s mood is at an all-time low and he’s not interested in making matters worse by revisiting that sore spot.

“Isn’t you processing me some sort of conflict of interest or something?”

TK tamps down the way his heart clenches at his own words, the unintentional reminder of their short-lived but impactful shared history. It’s not as if he could necessarily forget what has transpired between them, but he’s been doing his damndest to shove any and every feeling this man ignites in him into a box within the recesses of his mind.

It certainly doesn’t help now looking at Carlos’ serious expression. Those eyes. They’ll be the death of him.

“I’m not trying to be your boyfriend, or even your friend if you're not into it. But you should talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal.”

For as defensive as he’s been this whole time, something in TK shutters at the word, recoils from it like getting too close to an open flame. It calls to mind that night seated with his father after his relapse. He too had plainly called into question TK’s emotional state. Consequences truly meant nothing to him. Nothing did, not when his heart, body, and mind have been so disconnected from the moment Alex made his confession.

That night, he knows, will forever be a turning point for him. Moving almost two thousand miles away hasn’t been enough to fully distance himself from it. He’s living through the aftershocks and he sees now that he’s not the only person being hurt as a result.

The last thing he wants to do is cause pain to anyone, especially Carlos who has done nothing other than show interest and kindness to him.

Even now, in the face of it all, Carlos cares for him.

TK’s breathing quickens as Carlos wipes his mouth. There’s an intimacy to it, far different from hooking up on Carlos’ couch. Whatever this is that’s been blossoming between them, it’s not just physical.

He sees clearly now what he’s been trying to dodge this whole time. Carlos deserves to know what’s truly going on with him, why he’s been so distant and outwardly afraid of. He explains in the simplest way that he can about his breakup and subsequent relapse.

“You mean with me?”

Something about the question unsettles TK. How many times has Carlos had his heart broken? What had he endured in past relationships to view himself as a wrong choice? An error or lapse in judgment?

Carlos can’t even bring himself to look at him apparently, but TK takes in everything about his profile as the truth spills out of him.

“No, I mean with substances.”

As expected, this gets Carlos’ attention, but TK is ready, albeit a bit embarrassed. This whole night is unspooling itself in ways he couldn’t have foreseen. But there’s something almost liberating about getting the words out. Perhaps more so it’s about who he’s telling it all to.

Carlos sits with it all for a moment. That’s enough for tonight, TK knows. At least now Carlos has a better understanding. TK grabs his keys and wallet before getting up from his seat. His mind still buzzes with all that he’s confessed to and a small part of him worries that what he has shared will change things between them. Maybe now that the truth is out there, however neatly summarized, it’ll be too much for Carlos.

But as the young officer breaks the tension with some levity, TK manages a smile for the first time all night. It shouldn’t be surprising that Carlos somehow understands just what he needs now.

All the stress and frustration from this evening has melted away, as too has the guard he’s been putting up around his heart. TK may not be able to say with certainty what’s in store for them, but he can at least allow himself to have Carlos in his life as a friend. Whatever may come next for them, TK knows without question that they’ll be alright.

Present Day

TK stares up into the vast nothingness of his bedroom ceiling as his mind replays the absolutely unbelievable events of the last twenty four hours. He’s been tested in ways he never could have imagined and had come to the very edge of almost failing.

He thinks of his father and Carlos now. Between the two of them, he’s somehow managed to survive the most harrowing day of his life– and that’s truly saying something.

He and Carlos had come home, stomachs full of Chinese food in honor of his mother and hearts full of gratitude that everyone on the plane had survived. It felt like nothing short of a miracle.

Watching the coverage of the emergency landing on the news this evening had been surreal. But in truth, everything since he’d gotten the phone call of his mother’s passing has felt just like that too. Just going through the motions until today’s flight forced him out of the fog.

Seeing the footage of the plane emitting thick gray clouds of smoke, his body had tensed even though he knew firsthand how it ended.

Carlos had reassured him that everything was alright now, had kissed him deeply enough to push the images from the plane from his mind. He could feel all of Carlos’ emotions being poured into him, the relief that he was safe and sound. TK let himself be wrapped up in it all and mirrored it back.

In bed now though, that blissfulness has turned to restlessness and TK knows exactly what is at the root of it.

His fingertips can still feel the vials of fentanyl he clutched. His body still aches for the relief it would have provided.

It was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment he isn’t proud of. It hadn’t necessarily been his intention when going into work this morning, but a little voice calls into question whether that’s completely true. He’d been intent on getting back to the routine of work, but once the opportunity presented itself to go into the narcotics safe, he’d hardly dissuaded himself from following through.

It isn’t lost on him that, once again, his father’s timing had saved him.

“I’m so sorry you missed the service,” Carlos says into the darkness.

TK blinks twice in surprise. He thought he was the only one awake right now, but he’s glad sleep seems to be evading Carlos too.

He rolls over and snuggles up against Carlos’ side. The tiredness he feels is bone-deep, but being able to connect with Carlos like this helps TK to alleviate some of the weariness he’s experiencing. He knows what could relieve him of this weight, but he can’t bring himself to lay another concern at his feet.

Carlos already feared losing him once today. It’d be borderline cruel to add to that, he tells himself.

TK burrows in deeper, his face tucked away in the crook of Carlos’ neck. He breathes him in, allows himself to sink into the warmth and comfort of his boyfriend, this safe harbor housed in skin.

“Thank you for everything you did to try and get us there. It really meant a lot. I don’t think I even took a minute to properly say thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Carlos says gently, his fingertips stroking lightly against the arm TK has just slung around him. “I’m just glad I could be there for you. I wish things would have gone differently so you could have made it to New York.”

“A part of me didn’t even want to go. A pretty big part,” he admits.

“That’s why you went to the station?”

TK’s heart sinks a little. That’s only part of the truth. The full reality sits heavy on his tongue, but TK’s lips can’t seem to form the words. Instead he sighs in frustration at himself. He’d been able to speak openly to his father about this, but it’s different with Carlos—through no fault of Carlos’ own. His boyfriend doesn’t have the full context, he hasn’t known this story from the very beginning.

He opened this book at a later chapter.

Carlos has seen the aftermath when TK first came to Austin, a bar brawl that led to a trip to the police station and TK struggling to make heads and tails of his attraction to Carlos. But this, putting the full breadth of his addiction and the ease to which his demons can be summoned, on display is a side of himself he wants to shield Carlos from for as long as humanly possible. However improbable and idealistic.

“You saved a life today,” Carlos says, switching gears, unknowingly giving TK the perfect out. “That’s no small feat, especially under those circumstances.”

He thinks of Genevieve, her life quite literally in his hands. How kismet, he thinks, to have been seated right beside the woman who would wind up requiring his aid.

That had been TK’s mission since he could remember. If he isn’t always able to save himself, he’ll do everything in his power to do so for others. Perhaps that’s part of the family legacy.

His mother saved him. She’d saved Jonah, her last act before leaving this world. In a way, being on that flight to get to her, but managing to save someone instead was a tribute as well.

“I’m proud of you,” Carlos murmurs against the crown of his head before placing a kiss there. “I know Gwyn would have been too.”

The knot in TK’s stomach tightens at the sentiment. He knows that’s true. But what would Carlos and his mother think if they’d known just how dangerously close he’d come to undoing everything?

~*~*~

It all feels gray in a way it hasn’t since TK first came to Austin and the weight of that sits so heavily on TK’s chest that he can’t even feel angry. He simply feels nothing and that scares him more than anything.

This was a complete and utter violation. This home, their second attempt tainted by this woman’s actions.

A whole year of sobriety, snatched away in the blink of an eye. His mind floods with the memory of his sobriety party, the room filled with loved ones proud of his accomplishment. One face appears clearest of all and TK squeezes his eyes shut at the picture of his mother’s unwavering gaze as he gave his speech in front of them all.

He’s lost two things from that party, one of which he’ll never get back.

TK curls up in bed, hugs his knees to his chest. He stares into the pitch black of the bedroom. It’s been a few hours now since he and Carlos were given the all clear, but TK is so deeply unnerved by what’s transpired that he isn’t sure he’ll be able to manage to sleep tonight.

Why was it that the universe seemed so keen on knocking him down? His life feels like being caught in a riptide. Each time he breaks through to the surface and takes a breath, he finds himself being pulled under again.

Would he ever reach the shore? Would he ever be able to truly stand on solid ground for good?

TK’s so lost in his thoughts that he jumps at the feel of Carlos’ hand against his back. He feels as if he could just come out of his skin at once. He unfurls immediately and turns to face his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Carlos says softly.

TK’s heart is still racing, but he shakes his head. Carlos’ touch was only meant to comfort him. It’s hardly his fault TK feels on edge. TK comes closer and buries his face against Carlos’ chest, and lets himself be wrapped up in his boyfriend’s arms. If nothing else, it’s in Carlos’ embrace that he knows he’ll always be safe.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m just…I’m sorry. My head is––,” he trails off, unsure of what state his mind is truly in right now.

Carlos seems to understand regardless.

“This isn’t on you. You know that, right? What Sadie did…this doesn’t count.”

TK wishes he could believe that. In the end, drugs worked their way into his system. It didn’t matter who was responsible for it. It didn’t change the fact he’d been exposed.

“Yes, it does,” he mumbles, his eyes stinging already as tears well up unbidden.

“This wasn’t a choice that you made. This happened to you, not because of you. There’s a huge difference,” Carlos insists.

You don’t get it, TK thinks. Logically he knows this isn’t his doing. But physically, his body is longing for more of this thing he’s refrained from for over a year. In time, Carlos will be bright and shiny, good as new. He can let this roll off his back, take it on the chin and get back to his regular routine.

TK can’t say the same for himself. This has stirred something inside of him, rattled the cage of a monster he’s kept locked inside. He can feel the sharp teeth nipping at the bars, desperate to get out again.

His resolve has slipped and TK isn’t so sure he has the proper defenses to fight back.

“It almost was. A choice I made, I mean,” TK says unexpectedly.

These weren’t the words he’d been intending to speak. But the funny thing about the truth was that it always made its way out one way or another.

Carlos is quiet for a beat, no doubt trying to make sense of what TK is talking about.

“I’m not following. You couldn’t have known what Sadie was up to.”

TK bites back on his lower lip. It’s now or never. It should have been before, weeks before, he knows.

“I don’t mean tonight.”

There’s one beat of silence before Carlos sits up enough to turn on the lamp. TK avoids his gaze though he can feel the full weight of his boyfriend’s eyes on him. He moves off of Carlos, retreats a bit closer to his side of the bed as he forces himself to look at Carlos.

Carlos’ expression is a true mix of confusion and concern.

TK opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to coax out the words he’s been holding on to.

“If not tonight, then when?” Carlos asks carefully.

TK fidgets with his fingers, his heart racing for the umpteenth time tonight.

“The day we were all supposed to go to New York…when I went into work, it…it wasn’t only to distract myself or to feel like things were normal,” he starts out.

He struggles for a moment with the truth he’s been holding on to for weeks.

“I think a part of me went there looking to score.”

Carlos’ face falls, but there’s no judgment or anger in his eyes. Just all out worry and sadness. TK thinks that may actually be worse.

“My dad showed up and if he hadn’t, I’m pretty sure I would have caved right there at the station. I would have,” he corrects. “I had two vials of fentanyl in my hand when he found me. So yeah, it makes me sick that Sadie hit the reset button on my sobriety, but I came so close to wrecking my own year too.”

TK wipes at his eye, his hand coming away wet. Carlos blinks quickly, his mouth opening and closing. This may be the first time TK has ever seen Carlos genuinely speechless.

“I’m sorry,” TK says quickly, filling the silence. “I should have told you sooner. But I just…I couldn’t and I didn’t want to worry you over something that ultimately never happened. So much was going on that day, I just ––I’ve been trying to forget how low I got. I didn’t want to drag you down there with me.”

“TK,” Carlos cuts in, the syllables colored in surprise and hurt.  

TK closes his mouth at once, feeling nauseous. He bites back another apology as Carlos seemingly collects his thoughts.

“I wish you would have told me. It’s not a burden. I need to know how you’re feeling. I want to know what you’re up against. The last thing I would ever want is for you to suffer in silence.”

Carlos’ eyes are wet and the twisted feeling in TK’s gut only grows tighter, especially as Carlos continues to speak.

“I can’t help if I don’t know you need it.”

TK frowns.

“I’m going to be fighting this for the rest of my life. Our life. It kills me to drop this kind of baggage on you. It’s messy and complicated. You don’t know just how badly I wish things could be different. That I could be different and not someone you have to worry about. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Carlos flinches as if he’s been struck.

“You say that as if loving you is some kind of chore for me. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, TK. If nothing else, I need you to know that. You are everything to me. Nothing is ever going to change the way I feel about you. I just need to know. You can tell me these things. The only thing that would hurt me is you going through this alone somehow.”

TK’s brows furrow. He knows Carlos means this genuinely and this level of support is just what he suspected he’d get from his boyfriend. All the same, guilt gnaws at him, sinks its teeth into his skin painfully. The thought of opening up about all of this feels insurmountable. He’s already shared more than he planned to tonight.

“I think I should go back to group,” TK says. “When I first moved down here, it was part of the deal with my dad. I actually really liked the people I met there and…after going to that grief meeting with Tommy…I don’t know. I think I need that kind of system again.”

Carlos searches his face and for the life of him, TK can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He’s too afraid to ask and tonight has already taken so much out of him, he doesn’t press it. Whatever deep thought has crossed Carlos’ mind clears. TK can see a change, a subtle shift.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

TK gets the sense that Carlos wants to say more and, in truth, TK knows there’s plenty more he should offer. But it’s late. They’re both tired.

TK nods to himself and places a kiss on Carlos’ cheek.

“I love you. You know that, right?” he asks.

Carlos smiles genuinely. “I do. I hope you understand just how much I love you too. I’m here. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it. I’m right here, TK. Always.”

~*~*~

All his life, TK has heard the old adage “the only way out is through.” The last twenty-four hours have been a testament to that.

TK wakes to a quiet bedroom, sunlight bathing his skin. His eyes feel sore and rubbed raw from the tears he’d shed last night.

His talk with Cooper had been extensive, but also cathartic. He’d been doing so well in his goal of thirty meetings in thirty days and though he hadn’t managed to make it to group, Carlos stepping in to get Cooper to their loft had been just the thing he needed.

His fight earlier in the week with Carlos still weighs heavily on his heart, but TK knows they’re all the better for having had that conversation. Their bond only strengthened since they broke down the divide between them and spoke openly and honestly about what’s been troubling them.

He turns to the right and finds the bed empty; Carlos has always been an early riser.  After speaking with Cooper, TK had been so wiped he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t even heard Carlos come back home. But the rumpled bedding on Carlos’ side of the bed reassures him that his boyfriend did in fact make it in safely.

TK sits up and rubs at his left eye before heading into the bathroom. He catches sight of himself in the mirror. His hair is disheveled, his eyes have bags under them and yet still, he feels lighter than he has in days.

After he’s brushed his teeth, he heads back into the bedroom. What he wants now is a hot shower, to really wash away the strain of last night and begin this day fresh.

He crosses the room to the dresser to grab new garments but stops short as his eyes land on a new addition to the surface. TK’s heart beats faster, his breathing increasing as well as he stares, completely frozen in place.

His mother’s face smiles out at him from a framed photo with the kid version of himself beaming back at the camera too.

Their first trip to Spring Street, forever memorialized on film.

The shock of seeing it now quickly fades and in its place, a sense of calm washes in.

TK picks up the photo and heads straight out of the room, gripping it tight. He walks across the loft, making a beeline for Carlos who is in the kitchen, cutting up strawberries.

“Morn–,” Carlos starts to greet him, but stops as his eyes drift to the picture frame.

“You put this on the dresser,” TK says softly, cutting right to the chase.

Carlos sets the knife in his hand down and wipes both hands on a dish towel. He steps away from the island and comes closer.

“You asked me to put these somewhere. I didn’t think they should be in a box or stay stuck in an album.”

It’s a simple statement, but the thought behind the gesture reaches down to TK’s core.

Emotion swells within TK quickly. He swallows hard as a tear falls. Carlos’ face falls with it.

“Babe, I’m sorry. Maybe this was too much too soon. If I’m overstepping here—,” Carlos says.

TK places a hand gently on his boyfriend’s cheek and shakes his head, shushing him gently.

“No…Carlos, no, you aren’t,” he says, clearing his throat.

Carlos doesn’t look so sure, but he nods anyway and searches his face. TK tries and fails in his mission to keep from tearing up again. Another tear wells and breaks free of the corner of his eye.

Carlos doesn’t push, though TK can see the concern etched into his features.

“I put a few more out there,” Carlos notes, jutting his thumb towards the living room. “If it really is too much, let me know. I just thought you’d like to have her around.”

“You’re truly unbelievable,” TK says quietly. “This is…it’s everything. Thank you.”

Relief floods Carlos’ face. He leans in and presses his lips softly to TK’s. They taste like strawberries.

TK lets his forehead rest against his boyfriend’s for a moment as he lets out a soft sigh before pulling away. He looks down at the picture he’d just shared with Carlos the night before, now housed in a rich mahogany frame. Solid and protected. TK’s fingertips ghost over his mother’s face, a soft smile painting his lips.

He can almost feel her, but his focus slips, making him face the reality that the smoothness he’s feeling is nothing more than glass. The only places she exists now are in photographs and memories. It’s been weeks and TK still isn’t sure how to reconcile with that. Perhaps, he laments, he never will.

TK sighs and sets the picture down. The second his hand is free, Carlos reaches for him and laces their fingers.

“Where’d you go?” Carlos asks.

TK looks up at him and searches his eyes as he collects his thoughts.

“What if it’s always like this? These highs and lows. What if I’m always torn?”

Carlos frowns slightly and cups TK’s cheek.

“It’s called recovery for a reason. It’s a process. You’re getting back to yourself. ”

TK looks down at the photo for a moment before returning his attention to Carlos and frowning.

“Some days I don’t even know who that is. These last few weeks, I haven’t been myself at all. I don’t know what I’m going back to. I don’t know if that version is still in there anymore or if I even want it to be. I’m different now.”

Carlos seems to consider this for a moment. He tugs TK’s hand gently and brings them over to the living room, abandoning the breakfast he’d been preparing. They settle on the couch, exactly as they had been seated just last night. It was also in this spot he talked to Cooper for what felt like ages after Carlos left the loft.

It’d been helpful, but TK feels ready to lower down the wall he’s been putting up in order to shield Carlos, to finally let him in entirely.

“If you knew me back then, you wouldn’t have recognized me. You wouldn’t have wanted to get anywhere near me. I didn’t even want to be around me. When I get into these moods, I still don’t,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat to his own ears.

When he looks at Carlos, the man’s expression is a bit grave.

“You say these things sometimes…I trust you, completely. But I do worry. I can’t help it. Last night you said you’d give anything to feel happy again.” Carlos searches his face, his eyes urgent yet soft.

“I don’t think it fully hit me until then, just how lost you’ve been feeling. How deeply it runs. You deserve to be happy all the time.”

TK smiles sadly.

“I can’t undo those years. I’ll never be the version of me that I was before I started using. But I am happy. I’ve got the world’s most incredible and supportive boyfriend. I’ve got good friends and a job that I love. I’ve got a roof over my head, this beautiful home here with you.”

He sighs and pauses briefly.

“I hate what Sadie did to us. What she took. But I’m safe with you and I know it.”

It makes TK angry that this second home they’ve built has been harmed. But the upside is that he’s had Carlos beside him through it all. Carlos, with his good heart and patient nature. It feels like far more than he deserves, but TK is grateful to have it.

“It’s just…sometimes I wish I could go back to before things got complicated. That’s all I meant by that. But I can’t wave a magic wand or flip a switch to undo all the mistakes I’ve made over the years. All I can do is keep moving forward and do my best not to slip up again. I don’t want to let myself down or anyone who loves me.”

Carlos shifts and takes his hand.

“We aren’t going anywhere. We are all so proud of you. We see how seriously you’ve been taking your sobriety. I know I have. You’ve come a long way.”

TK knows this is true. Comparing the state he was in back in 2017 and as recently as when he first came to Austin, he’s made leaps and bounds in the right direction. However, he knows all too well how one bump in the road can drive him completely off course.

He sits up straighter and squares his shoulders.

“I want you to fully understand what you’re taking on here. What the risks are in case I relapse again down the line.” TK takes a deep breath.

“Carlos, it’s not pretty. And it’s easier to say you can handle it when you haven’t actually faced it. I trust that you mean it, I don’t doubt that,” he amends. “But the reality…it’s way different. I need you to know the truth though.”

TK can see Carlos taking his words to heart as he nods.

“Tell me what you’re comfortable sharing and we’ll go from there.”

TK searches Carlos’ face, his unwavering brown eyes. He can feel the desperation in them, just how badly Carlos wants to know it all. From that night at the police station, which feels like a lifetime ago, Carlos has been without the full story. It’s long overdue.

“At the height of it, things were really bad in New York. I mean…dangerously bad. I—I would disappear for days at a time here and there. That’s part of why I’m fighting so hard to make sure I do get back to you, no matter what. I’d lie to my parents, mostly my mom because she was around more. I’d get my hands on whatever I could, it didn't matter what it was.”

Carlos doesn’t move an inch.

“I went on a bender one night. I was out of my mind. My mom…I don’t even know how long she couldn’t find me. But she did…on the floor of some seedy drug den. I have no idea how the hell she actually got me out of there or even how she knew where to find me in the first place. But she saved my life that night, that I’m sure of.”

TK licks his lips, recalling that grim night in 2017.

“She finally had enough. We got into a huge fight; she signed me up for treatment in California and no matter how much I pushed, I couldn’t convince her that I didn’t need it. Pretty weak argument on my end,” TK sighs. “She flew three thousand miles with me just…being a total dick the whole time because I was so mad at her for shipping me off to rehab. I was a mess on the plane. Dope sick, paranoid. I swiped three of those mini bottles from the stewardess’ cart to settle me.”

TK laughs humorlessly. “That’s how far gone I was. There I was on my way to rehab and that’s the kind of stunt I pulled.”

TK looks down at his hands, easily conjuring up the image of his blue stained fingertips, the lengths he went to in order to still polish off those small bottles. They’re eclipsed by Carlos’ hands settling over his, pulling him back to the present moment.

TK brings his gaze up once more and finds the strength to keep going as he looks at his boyfriend.

“I did thirty days out in California. I stuck with the program, really took it to heart because I wanted to get better and stay better for her and for me. She was proud of me when I got back. I felt better and I was better…for years I was good and then, well, I had that relapse that brought me to Austin. That breakup brought out my worst instincts, undid everything I learned about on how to cope with the unexpected.”

TK sighs heavily. “Just like my mom did, my dad saved my life after I overdosed. And I just, I’m so tired of making the people I care for worry about me. I’m always one bad night away from making the same mistake. I’m so scared of putting you in that position one day…finding me passed out somewhere or worse. I don’t want to put you through that.”

The pattern that’s been shaping up with his parents throughout the years lives constantly in the back of his mind. Bad things tended to happen in threes. TK is determined to do everything in his power to break the cycle and spare Carlos from ever finding him the state his parents have previously.

“I can’t let you go. I love you so much and I’ve never been this happy before.” TK lets out a breath and shakes his head.

“Sometimes I feel selfish. I feel like I’m asking a lot of you here. I know that I am.”

Carlos’ brows furrow deeply, the look in his eyes intense.

“You aren’t,” he says at once. “You aren’t asking anything of me, certainly nothing I can’t handle or don’t want to give. You’re it for me. Nothing could ever change that.”

TK swallows hard and rests his head against Carlos’ shoulder.

“I don’t want you to have to worry about me.”

“To be fair, I worry about everything,” Carlos counters.

It brings enough levity to the situation that TK finds himself smiling. He looks up and kisses Carlos’ jaw.

“That’s true. You’re going to go gray early. But you’d pull it off just like you do everything else,” he comments, threading his fingers through Carlos’ curls.

Carlos smiles softly, holding on gently to TK’s wrist, his thumb brushing against TK’s pulse point. TK sighs quietly at his touch, growing serious again.

They sit in silence for beat, Carlos’ thumb still skimming his skin.

“I’m used to protecting people and fixing things. Personally and professionally. It’s hard for me to shut that off. But I can recognize that I’m out of my depth here,” Carlos says after a moment, his mouth twisting into a frown.

“That was hard to accept at first. I could read a thousand articles, but I’d still never truly know what you’re feeling. I don’t know. I was really mad at myself most of all. I felt like I was failing you.”

TK’s heart sinks.

“God, Carlos, no. You could never.”

“I understand that now, I really do. And even though I’ve never been in your shoes, that doesn’t mean that I’m going to ever stop having your back and helping in the ways that I can. I promise. I’m always going to be within reach just waiting for you when you need me.”

TK feels a fluttering sensation in his stomach at those words, the sincerity and conviction.

“Well, I’m always going to need you. And at the risk of sounding like a cheesy Hallmark card, honestly? You help just by being here. By showing up and loving me. You calling Cooper? That meant the world to me, Carlos. I still don’t even have the words for that.”

TK bites back on his lower lip.

“I know how lucky I am, to have had my mom, to have my dad, and you. No one outside of my parents has ever stayed. No one has genuinely cared like you do. You see these parts of me and you still love me. You still choose me, despite everything. I wouldn’t blame you if this was too much. I know this isn’t easy on you either.”

TK looks away, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. Carlos tucks a hand under his chin and gently guides TK to look at him.

“There’s no fine print when it comes to us, no terms and conditions. I love you. That’s all there is to it,” Carlos says. “That’s reason enough to keep fighting for us. I’m not going into this with rose-colored glasses. I know full-well what the possibilities are. That there is potential for relapse. But I also know that if any setbacks happen, we’re strong enough to get through it together. I’ve got both feet on the ground here and I’m standing next to you. Always.”

TK’s resolve breaks then. He has to wonder if Carlos even realizes just how life-changing his love has been. A few tears streak down his face but through it all, TK doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

“That counts for more than you’ll ever know so, thank you for that.”

Carlos frowns and cups TK’s cheek, his thumb brushing against his skin. His touch is warm and the gentle back and forth lulls TK like a melody.

“I see you. And I’m in awe. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. Maybe one day you’ll see that. Until then—and even after—I’m going to tell you every day how proud I am of you.”

Carlos searches his eyes deeply and TK just knows he can see right through to his heart.

“You will always be worth the world to me. More than that, even. I love you so much, TK. I will for the rest of my life.”

He says it so effortlessly, seems to know it for a fact.

I want all of it.

“The rest of your life, huh?” he says, leaning in closer to Carlos.

When he’d first come to Austin, it felt impossible to dream of such things, a happily ever after or even a story worth telling.

Carlos smiles and drapes his arm over TK’s shoulders as he leans back against the couch and pulls TK to rest on him. TK’s body fits perfectly as if the spot was tailor-made just for him.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Carlos says.

It takes everything in TK not to melt right there, at how freely Carlos expresses the love he has in his heart for him.

TK is of the same mind. He can’t imagine a future that doesn’t have Carlos in it beside him.

This is all TK has ever wanted. To love and be loved in return. Wholly. Made to feel like he isn’t too much or not enough. Even with this added layer, he’s just right in Carlos’ eyes. Whole pieces and broken, healing ones too.

[waitmyturtles]

A very super-duper quick weekend update on the Old GMMTV Challenge!

1) My Make It Right, season 2, review drops tomorrow morning (my time)! In it, I implore everyone and all of their friends and relatives to please watch this ridiculously beautiful show. I finished it on Thursday, and am still feeling emotional about it. It was raw and gorgeous. I absolutely LOVED IT.

2) SOTUS S and Our Skyy x SOTUS binge watch starts tonight (Step By Step temporarily delayed me, ha). 

I’m wondering if Make It Right 2, in 2017, was the first Thai BL to show the continuation of a committed relationship overall (FrameBook) -- because SOTUS S airs at the end of 2017/start of 2018, and Together With Me: The Next Chapter comes much, much later in 2018. 

But: SOTUS S, from what I understand, deals with continuing relationships from the adult/working adult gaze, which very much intrigues me. Was that the first time that happened -- the continuation of a relationship at least somewhat outside the school spectrum, for Arthit? And, if I’m not mistaken -- am I right to say that SOTUS S was the first second season of a BL for GMMTV?

3) I’m also, unfortunately, morbidly curious to see if Krist improves in his acting in this second season, as I’m seeing quite a lot of excitement for Be My Favorite later this spring, and I’m still holding strong judgement against his acting (maybe Krist is experiencing a forgiveness revival?) 

4) But separately, I do think it’s important for me to watch Singto before getting to He’s Coming To Me, which I am so close to now on my list. Now that I’ve REALLY delved into the Ohm Pawat oeuvre (and will do so even more with Dew the Movie), I feel like I need to see more Singto before I can seriously and deeply appreciate HCTM. He was the saving grace of SOTUS, and I need to understand better his own legacy and range.

That’s it! Adding Step By Step is delaying my usual binge-ability for the OGMMTVC, but not by much. I’ll be much more messed up next week and the week after with Our Skyy 2 x Bad Buddy/ATOTS, ha!

[ruiniel]

Thank you so much! Then let me ask for a request! :3

As you might have guessed, I'd like to ask for a small Trevorcard story.

Maybe how they live in the castle during winter/their preparations for winter. Cozy and domestic, Trevor finally having a home, maybe they could warm each other at night (I leave it up to you if Trevor gets horny from cuddling or not xD) They already are in a relationship for a few months and this is their first winter together in the castle.

Take all the time you need and thank you so much for the opportunity to request! ❤️

Whew, this took me longer so it's coming late in the winter. There's plenty of longing and affection, hope you like it. Thank you, I love exploring interactions featuring them, and had so much fun writing it!

Title: Anew

Fandom: Castlevania Series 2017-2021

Rating: M

Relationship: Alucard/Trevor Belmont

Characters: Alucard, Trevor Belmont

Count: 3k

Also on AO3

Additional Tags: Fluff, Tenderness, Banter, Longing, Winter times, Cuddling, New Year's Eve, Frottage because I don't see enough of it in smutfic, Reference to show-canon trauma, POV Trevor Belmont, Oneshot, post-season IV

Trevor flings then catches the small dagger he’d been tossing in the air and capturing repeatedly in an idle game, watching Adrian as he effortlessly stacks the last of the firewood in a tall chamber-turned shed within the castle walls.

He sits on a heavy log, for the first time in a while doing nothing. He’s cold under his coat, but he’s content, and mellow as he hasn’t been in years. Trevor Belmont is not certain whether it’s what Adrian is doing that has him following his every movement—the elegant sway of his lithe body as he carries out a mundane task, or the ease of companionship that flourished between them these past months since Trevor’s unexpected return. He’s had plenty of time to think, time to dwell on his past, and his present, and even, for once, daring to consider the future. Where before was bleak nothingness steeped in bitterness, now he can look ahead, without fear or shame. He’s cleared his name, restored his legacy and for the first time, feels worthy of it. He has his friends and lovers around him. Trevor’s also considered, though not enough, getting accustomed to this new status: from outcast to community leader.

But that’s not at the forefront of his thought now. He dwells on feeling. Specifically, on what sparks and shivers inside him when lately he observes the least likely person in the world Trevor thought he’d catch feelings for; but there it is, and here they are.

Adrian tosses his head back as he straightens, hands on his hips, his chest rising in a deep breath. He regards the wall of stacked timber reaching up to the high ceiling.

It smells of resin, tree bark, and earth in here; a pleasant, raw smell, one Trevor’s most familiar with owing to countless days spent in the wilds, running and fighting. He realizes, with an uncomfortable revelatory twinge of thought, that he no longer wants to run, and no longer could. He looks down at his feet, now spinning the ornate dagger absently in his hand.

“I believe this amount should suffice for a few months,” Adrian speaks, practical contemplation lining his words.

While the castle itself boasts an intelligently devised heating system, the village denizens unwilling to take shelter within its walls for the dark winter months must still keep warm, and it was agreed to stack the firewood inside for everyone’s use, to protect it from humidity and the elements.

Trevor says nothing, lifting his gaze and pausing in his dagger play to regard Adrian in silence: hair done up in a loose bun with those bright, burnished ringlets framing his angular face, softening its pale countenance. He looks not exerted in the least, a trait Trevor’s long stopped to envy, particularly when it comes to certain thoughts he’s mostly kept to himself. One day, he might be able to share them. One day, maybe, when and if Adrian is ready.

“What?” Adrian asks, and if he sees the naked longing on Trevor’s face, he says nothing of it. At the beginning, their beginning, there was teasing, one the hunter welcomed with gruff and eye-rolls and secret enjoyment. Now, Adrian’s gaze slips over him from head to toe as he nears.

Trevor swallows when a long, beringed hand runs through his dark hair, and his forehead rests against a hard abdomen; he breathes in, dropping the dagger to wind his arms around Adrian’s waist. “Nothing,” he mumbles, tilting his face so his cheek rests against the silk of Adrian’s shirt. "Absolutely nothing." Only Adrian would wear fine garments such as this while stacking timber; Trevor, who’s been raggedy most of his adult years until recently, finds it both ridiculous and endearing.

The hand still sleeks through his hair, towards the nape of his neck, grazing the skin there; he shudders.

“I’ve been thinking,” says Adrian.

“Must’ve been hard,” Trevor retorts, but it lacks bite—he’s mostly doing it out of habit, nowadays. Gone so soft, has he?

Adrian ignores him, ruffling his hair back with languid movements of his strong, long fingers.

“All right, what about?”

“Perhaps, you and I could begin sharing a chamber… at one point. If you wish,” Adrian says.

Trevor nearly chokes on his spit. He looks up. His expression only gains him a soft smile, softer than he thought he’d ever see on Adrian’s punch-kissable face.

Ever since he and Sypha learned the details of what passed in their absence, despite the joy of reunion, wrath and guilt rose in his blood whenever Trevor saw the jumpy way Adrian reacted at times at others’ closeness or a mere hand placed on his shoulder, the swift caged look fading from his face but not fast enough. That was months ago, and even after they’d admitted to themselves and each other their buried but very much thriving feelings, the remnants of Adrian’s personal ordeal still lay between them. It was normal, it was expected. They promised him patience, they understood, of course they did. Trevor’s remorse at not having been there had mostly subsided since then, after many nights of frustrated apologies met with reassurance.

Adrian is waiting for his answer, his expression soft and patient.

“... You mean… at night? We do that already, don’t we.”

“I mean, whenever, Trevor,” Adrian says, “...or do you prefer to keep living in separate chambers, then?”

They’ve shown each other they care in many ways, slowly as Adrian allowed, as close as they could get—a brief brush of fingers during a workday, a kiss in a hidden alcove. They’ve come so far in trust, had spent nights with their legs tangled together and sharing each other’s warmth. But, at daybreak, one of them always left.

“Um. It’s not that, I— no, I mean.” He hates it when this happens: master strategist, the last scion of the Belmont clan, reinstated (reluctant) hero of the Wallachian people; and an absolute wreck when Adrian Ţepeş asks him things like this. Things that mean more change. Things Trevor will never admit scare him possibly just as much as Adrian, who is asking, because they leave him utterly vulnerable and he’s gotten more easily used to a regular shave than that state of being. Not only that, but Adrian being ready for more is like a sweet spike to his heart. “I haven’t really been spoiled for choice in terms of living quarters, up until recently, as you know, so I’m not picky. I just…” he bites his lip. “Can I think about it?” Smooth, Trevor, you fucking idiot.

Adrian’s face does not change; Trevor has tried reading him, has even gotten close to succeeding a few times, but now there is nothing.

“Consider it,” he says, releasing Trevor as many voices come nearer, some of children running about the castle corridors, their mothers’ voices hard and watchful behind them.

Consider it. Adrian fucking knows it was never for Trevor or Sypha to say, that they left it all up to him: how close they could get, how much he could give or accept. But now he just sounded like he’d kicked a harmless beast in the teeth, though Adrian still smiles at him as Trevor rises.

“Come,” he says, breaking the spell, “I promised Aida to aid with the New Year’s arrangements and I need your help.” He bends and reaches for his coat.

New Year’s Eve is just around the corner—a welcome distraction, these preparations, Trevor has found, one to keep his wanting thoughts out of the gutter and his ears free of the bursting beats in his chest. But now, he barely hears someone call his name as he walks outside after Adrian, his mind a thousand leagues away.

 

It’s a frosty night. Trevor stands bundled in his coat, watching the gathering communing before the castle gates from afar, the celebratory mood enhanced by flowing mead and wine and beer. The bonfires have been lit and offer warmth to flushed cheeks, illuminating dancing figures and making them appear as shifting fire spirits, holding hands in circles around the flames. Some of the folk walk the grounds in the guise of symbols of nature and myth, and there is something savage and raw about it, a potent magic rising in the air on sweeping wings; Trevor feels it in his bones, watching the people follow their folk donning suits of the Bear, the Stag, the Fair ones and the Devils—all to ward off evil spirits and make way for a prosperous year to come.

Distracted, Trevor barely feels another presence standing at his side. “Tell me you did not just materialize out of mist,” he mutters good-naturedly, and Adrian’s snort is answer enough.

“I was looking for you.”

“Were you, now,” Trevor smiles without looking Adrian’s way.

Adrian glances at the faraway spectacle. “They have begun. So colorful, I’ve witnessed one such ceremony when I was a child, hiding behind Mother. The ancient ceremonial funeral for the first god of humanity: time.”

Trevor sighs, but his heart beats to another rhythm—what is it about tonight? Something wild and needy gnaws at the bones of his ribcage. What is it about Adrian’s closeness that has him feeling so weak and goddamn soft, and hungering? “You’re being a smartass again,” he mutters. But then, maybe some of Adrian’s musing nature rubbed off on him, after all. “But it’s about rebirth too, isn’t?”

Adrian nods. “It’s easy to submit to the illusion that time is linear, flowing to infinity without return.”

“Well, time, is a man-made concept. We need to know how much we have until we croak, you see.” Would an immortal understand?

“Then every new year is, in a way, a renewal,” Adrian adds, looking up at the stars. “Time wound back like a clock; starting anew in a cycle, like a snake endlessly devouring itself.”

“Someone’s had too much wine,” mumbles Trevor, though somewhere along the way, he’d begun enjoying Adrian’s monologues. Usually, the drunker he got, the more verbose he became. Not unwelcome, for someone usually so quiet and withdrawn. “Why were you looking for me?”

Adrian throws him a shifty glance, “Were you planning on crossing the New Year’s threshold all by yourself?”

“...No, I’m actually glad you came.” He would have gone in search of Adrian anyway, but he’d gotten pulled in by the mood of the celebration, and lost himself.

Soft, low laughter, like claws swiping sweetly at his heart. Something thrums wildly within him again, maybe it’s desire and maybe it’s loneliness or both, or maybe it’s coming to terms that he loves the scion of his family’s bitterest foe, in more ways Trevor can count.

“You are?” he feels closer, and Trevor smiles.

Damn him, his head is spinning. He watches the Bear, the Fairies, the Devils in their dance, but his thought is now on pale hair and warm skin, how it would feel against his own.

“... you know,” Adrian breaks the silence after some time, in that same voice, silky with traces of humor. “They say people should leave no unpaid debts on the last day of the year, lest they struggle with debt for the entire year to come.”

Trevor scoffs half-heartedly, eyes on the golden fires. His body warms despite the chill, drifting somewhere between the stars and the movement of the Earth, with Adrian’s closeness binding it all. “...are you trying to say, there is something I owe you?” he asks, half a smile on his face. What’s Adrian playing at now? A trait of habit—Trevor loathes being taken by surprise, since more often than not, throughout his life surprises tended to end with him running for his life, or cleansing his hands of filth and blood.

Adrian shifts slightly, and though Trevor does not turn, he feels the sweep of his stare, burning into his skin. “Is the thought of being indebted to me so upsetting to you?”

His voice is tender, the way Trevor's rarely had the time to hear these past weeks; with a twinge and a heaviness of heart, he realizes how much he's missed it. He leans forward and crosses his arms over the stone edge of the balcony. “...I guess it depends on the manner of debt.”

He feels a slight graze; Adrian has mirrored his movement, and they sit here, elbows touching as they stare ahead at the revelers and the children who should long have been in bed on any other night, now dancing and running like woodland sprites among the fires.

“But perhaps it is not you who is indebted.”

Trevor turns his head then, staring at the barely-contoured profile of his friend and... well, he can't exactly call him his lover, can he? “You do realize I'm no mind reader, not a lick of magic abilities about me,” he says, turning fully towards Adrian, “So you'll have to speak up—”

He’s breathing in, and like a beloved shadow Adrian glides forward. There’s the hard press of a chest against his, the vice-hold of arms around him, the cold nose buried against his neck. “You've been so patient with me,” Adrian speaks, and the breath of his words melts Trevor's knees. His arms find purchase and grasp, blue eyes catching the shimmer of Adrian's stare.

Trevor feels drunk, though he's surprisingly had not much alcohol despite it being nearly midnight already—another bizarre effect and change his lingering infatuation bought him. Where it led him… he supposes it’s not such a bad place, though they are careful around most with themselves and the guarding of their feelings; some might still not understand. What would anyone think when they saw them thus—the Belmont savior, clinging to the son of Dracula like a priest to his altar. “Be... be serious,” his voice is shaking. “How else could I be, after all that shit you went through? Don’t fuss over it, all right? Anyone who cares would do the same.”

Adrian’s nose bumps against Trevor's. “Not anyone,” he whispers, and tilts his head, and next Trevor knows he's deepening a soft, warm kiss; the thirst he's been stifling becomes a tempest, and the crowds and the cold and the music are forgotten and far away, all his thought and spirit turned to Adrian whispering, a bare shiver in his voice:

“Join me.”

And Trevor goes, lets himself be led by the hand as some hapless youth and not a monster hunter come back from the dead. They step inside together, and he’s drawn into a heap of sheets smelling of old wood and lavender. A long hand runs through his hair and he leans into the touch, nosing at a warm palm, licking at a scarred wrist.

When Adrian leads him down to him he once again follows, knowing little of what to expect and even less what to do—he doesn't want to push too far, not with this, and the fading scars are a poignant if angering reminder.

But he's being held to Adrian’s hard body, his own quick to respond. It feels surreal to twine this way, a step farther than any they'd taken before. A tentative shift of his hips brings forth a sigh of pleasure; he feels hardness, and his own blood leads hot in response. “What's this about?” he asks. Better safe than sorry.

“Us, Trevor. This is about us,” Adrian snarks, but it's soft, and shadows dance across his face in the flickering candlelight. “I want... I want…”

Trevor rests his forehead against Adrian's, adding more pressure to each slow tilt and press of hip— “... what ?” he gasps, searching and finding just the right spot where it feels good enough to continue and running a hand through Adrian's soft strands, slow to nibble softly on his lip.

“I want you closer,” Adrian says, breathless as he speaks.

Trevor traces that sharp jaw with battle-scarred fingers, enjoying as it moves slowly with their kiss, enjoying the swirl of tongue and pressing down harder in repeated motions, himself hard and hot, and he’s long shed his coat but now long fingers divest him of his tunic even as he pulls at Adrian’s shirt, rises on his arms to lick along his chest, down his scar and up again.

Adrian grips him and pulls him down again, urging a rhythm. Trevor moves, and even half-dressed as they are, the pressure grows until Adrian sighs wantonly, urging him on with the grip of his hands, gyrating Trevor’s hips against his; taking control—Trevor lets him, helpless enough that he’d do anything, anything, if it brought Adrian the pleasure he deserves. He’s so hard he won’t last long even this way, the intimacy of it flowering delightfully down his abdomen, building, and building, and he sucks at warm lips and grasps at fair hair, rubbing himself wildly against Adrian’s hips, held snug and tight as he alternates pressure and movement until Adrian groans into his mouth, body shuddering beneath him, once, twice, one leg come wrapped around Trevor’s hip, eyes soft and unfocused as Trevor looks down on him and doesn’t stop. Messily he tugs and bites on Adrian’s mouth until he’s plunged into the depths of bliss, and spills himself into his trousers.

“Holy… fuck…” he gasps with one last thrust of hip, forehead pressed to Adrian’s as he eases down, heavily coils himself around the other’s body.

“Something like that,” Adrian smiles. They kiss slowly, lying in silence, in each other’s arms with their hearts beating between them, away from it all.

“That was… unexpected,” Trevor whispers, his voice a husky mess as he nibbles on a pointy ear.

“... and since we’re speaking of cyclical patterns,” Adrian grins, his sharp teeth glimmering. “... now you owe me.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, tongue swiping tenderly over Adrian’s reddened lips. “Yeah, I get it. But here’s this—I’m absolutely fine with it.”

“Somehow, I expected you would be,” Adrian replies, kissing Trevor again as the clock strikes twelve.

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[skiijumpinng]

remember when they made raw air a thing for the first time in 2017 and we were all "worst tournament ever" "why do they all look dead" "let them rest!!!" but now it's actually quite grown on us???

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Drag My Teeth Across Your Beating Heart | Carnal XV

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Simon was born with what his father called 'The Curse'. A wanton craving for taboo meat. Since meeting the similarly cursed Johnny, the two had formed a bond. They didn't just fight together, they ate together, slept together, and shared everything.

When a favor to Price reveals another cursed person, Simon worries she could destroy everything.

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, smut, voyeurism

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Howl - Florence + The Machine

Body disposal isn't hard, not for Simon. It was a ritual. One passed down from his father. 

Disfigure

Dismember

Dispose

As easy as any prayer. On his knees, a rag over his mouth and nose, a saw in hand. A ritual like any other. This time it felt like mass without the sacrament. Nothing to slip into his mouth, no savior, no priest. 

He’d never been one for church. His mum had dragged him and Tommy a couple times mostly for Christmas and Easter Sunday. The only days that mattered. They’d been baptized Catholic because that’s what his father was raised as but never did any of the following sacraments. They’d stopped going by the time he was ten and he stopped believing in any possibility of a God after that first meal with his father. 

He had a new religion. Led by his father. He supposed all fathers are god in a sense. That’s what it felt like the first time they ate together. Divine Salvation.

The stable smelled like rot. It was cold enough that the body hadn’t started to turn to sludge but the smell was acrid. He stripped his clothes and left them folded on a table in the tack room. Skin is easier to clean than cloth. 

As many pieces as possible. Start with the joints and a brick, smash until the bones break then cut through the flesh. Humans are fragile.  His father had taught him that at a young age. Even the smooth leather of a belt could cut skin if struck hard enough. Soft skin made him feel vulnerable. Calluses were armor. 

He liked soft on others. Spilling between his fingers. Made him feel powerful. A show of strength to hold something fragile and not break it apart. 

Nina looked soft, like the flesh of her neck would mold into his hands. His arm had wrapped around her waist so fittingly. 

Johnny still had soft parts. Thighs, neck, arse. His favorite position was Johnny on his back, thighs wrapped around his waist. Simon would grip his arse like it held him to earth. Simon’s teeth would drag against Johnny’s throat. He’d cum inside him and Johnny’s spend would slick between them. 

When Johnny asked Simon to bite him last Summer, it twisted something nasty in his stomach. The monster he’d always fought down reared its head. The same monster that controlled his father. The one that took control in Mexico all those years ago. 

He hacked and hacked at the body. The smaller the parts the better. The harder to reconstruct, the easier to scatter. He’d seen crows nearby. He could feed them over the winter with this. Simon never liked waste. 

He took a hammer to the teeth, porcelain pieces. Tips of the fingers cut off. No tattoos to skin off this time. Man to meat. 

It took several hours. The floor of the stall was covered in blood. He was covered in blood. There was a hose, still working. He gathered the meat into a cooler and sprayed down the stall and then himself. He paced the stable, keeping his blood warm while he dried off.

There was something sweet in the air. Straw and glass, brown with Nina’s blood from the other day. Johnny’s scent was mixed in there too. She’d been wearing his clothes at the time. His cock twitched. He smacked the side of his face to snap himself back.

Gathered his clothes and walked back to the house. He heard them as he stepped inside. Johnny’s hurried babbling and Nina’s moans. He quietly took his boots off and crept towards the sound. It was wrong, yes. Hearing Johnny again made his blood hot. 

There was a mirror on the wall opposite them. From his angle in the hall, he could watch unseen. They were mostly clothed, only a small disappointment. His cock strained against his jeans. 

They looked good together. Like something meant to be. Even with Johnny’s lack of experience he could work her up well. Simon watched the muscles in her back stretch, sweat glide down her back. He wanted to walk in, lick it off. Slip his hand between her legs. Tell Johnny what to do, how to touch her. He wanted to show her where to nip and where to kiss. Johnny fell apart whenever Simon’s teeth grazed where his jaw met his ear. 

She was crying Johnny’s name. Johnny stared up at her with glazed eyes, the same eyes that used to look at him. Those eyes flicked to the mirror and Simon took a step back. He crept back down the hall and outside. He walked back to the stable. 

He found himself by the pile of bloodied straw and glass. He grabbed a handful of straw and held it near his face, breathing in. He fumbled with his zipper and button, haphazardly pulling his cock out. 

His fantasies were a crowded mess of bodies, sweat and cum. Nina and Johnny’s smell mixing with his, herby and sweet. All the positions they could arrange themselves in. Take turns riding and fucking. He wanted Nina to sit on his face while Johnny rode him. Fuck Johnny while he buried his face into Nina’s cunt. 

Simon groaned, cum mixing with the mess on the floor in front of him. He sighed, shaking his hand off. He’d have to wash the floor again. 

He stood, looking at the floor, the smell making his eyes roll back. He wanted the three of them to be together. He would make it happen. He tried being the lone wolf. Separate himself from Johnny but look at what had happened. They both needed him. Johnny can’t hunt on his own and Nina seemed incapable of it entirely. He’d have to teach them both. Keep them alive. 

They’d have this house, some place to stay. No more shitty hotels and hostels or car back seats. He could outfit the cellar to better butcher meat.He never told Johnny but he didn’t even have a flat himself. Any leave had him traveling around, hunting and camping. They’d never go hungry. It could be good. Something stable. 

He thought about his family. The ones he failed. He could still smell them, his stomach twisting while his mouth watered. He made a vow that night. He was the only one allowed to eat his loved ones. It was only right. His right. He’d failed them. He wouldn’t fail Johnny or Nina. 

He made dinner that night. Steak cooked with garlic, butter and thyme. The smell dragged both Johnny and Nina out of their bedrooms and to him. Nina’s hair was still damp from her shower. Made the whole house smell like vanilla. 

“Nina,” he said after they’d all sat down. She looked up from her plate. Her chair was touching Johnny’s. Simon laid a hand on Johnny’s thigh, earning a side glance.  “I want to teach you how to hunt.”

“When?” She asked through a mouthful of food.

“This weekend.”

“Si-” Johnny attempted to interrupt.

“Do you want to learn?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smiled. 

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

[thechembow]

UFO spotted above over US

Feb. 2, 2023 - ABC News

They say they “believe” it’s a “Chinese spy balloon.” Of course they know it isn’t, but they have to attribute an earthly cause to it, and what better way than to try and stir up more distrust and hatred of people in another country who have no orbs to fly over Montana. I photographed a similar craft on Nov. 14, 2017. It looks almost the same in the raw footage.

They also explained away the curving trails around it by attributing them to air force planes circling the orb. But we know human planes don’t do this, and that when you see curving trails, it’s because the OR vortex has thrown the inter-dimensional “chemtrail” craft off course. I photographed a great example of this phenomenon also in 2017, a major year for UFO sightings.

Of course there is now this ridiculous show surrounding the UFO, where US officials are pretending to be contacting China to demand answers. Here is a little sampling of the intelligent dialogue of Montana state representatives:

Montana Republican Rep. Ryan Zinke tweeted to "shoot it down."

"The Chinese spy balloon is clear provocation. In Montana we do not bow. We shoot it down," he wrote. "Take the shot."

The state's other top Republican representative, Matt Rosendale, wrote: "It's unacceptable to allow communist China to invade our airspace -- this is another clear example of Chinese aggression. President Biden must start putting the American people first and recognize that China is a threat to our freedom, values and way of life."

Obviously they can’t shoot it down. It’s a UFO from a more advanced race. They are blaming China because that’s what they do. It’s hilarious they say that communist China is a threat to “our freedom, values, and way of life” because China is where most of our consumer goods come from, without China the US would be nowhere, and the US is a communist country too (all countries are if you know anything about what a country is). China provides the American way of life and they don’t have UFOs like this to fly over the US. They have plenty of stuff to stock Walmart with, however, and they are friends with the US.

It’s also amusing to me that they are worried about China using this “spy ballooon” to find out secrets of nuclear missile bases in Montana. This is more of the show they have to put on for the public. Nuclear missiles are a hoax and have never existed.

They really are stepping all over themselves to explain this away. Compare the undoctored photo from the news story (the close-ups look manipulated) with my 2017 photo of the same type of craft. Mine didn’t make the news and I was probably the only one in my little town that noticed it. This one was seen by more people, so they had to come up with a story.

And here is my photo from Nov. 14, 2017. Please click the link for more photos. Were the Chinese spying on my house, lol?